Becoming Rachel Farmer: Baby Daddy Drama
by Gobsmacked82
Summary: Another Frank & Rachel series is in order, shippers. In this one, Frank and Rachel deal with all the complications of her previous relationship with Fletcher's father, Terrell. They also move to the East Coast so that Rachel can pursue an important gig on Broadway, and plan their wedding.
1. Trans-Continental Flight

_**Shippers/readers, this story picks up a year after Frank and Rachel's engagement in China. She is off to New York to star in a musical, bound to be a hit, while Frank and Fletcher have to adjust to their new life. Let's dive right in:**_

* * *

Frank and Rachel were asleep, spooning, when the crash of construction mallets in the west wing of their new house woke them up. It took about three salvos of heavy ripping and banging to wake Rachel up first. She twitched, and then sat up in bed with a start.

"We forgot!" She shook Frank to wake him, which took a while because he was still jet lagged. Then Rachel stretched her body over Frank to look at their alarm clock on his nightstand. "Frank, get up! The crew is here, and our flight leaves in five hours!"

Frank starts to respond to Rachel's vigorous shaking, but keeps his head buried under the pillow to escape the sunlight peeking through an opening in the blinds. He catches her around the waist, pulling her closer.

"Not now, Frank," Rachel said, peeling his arm off. "We have so much to do before we go. Thank God I packed last night for all of us."

A year after their engagement, Frank and Rachel still had not gotten married, they hadn't even set a date or picked a venue. But they had bought a house in Hollywood Hills and were renovating it extensively, getting it ready to move into after their wedding. Rachel had landed the lead role in a musical in New York, to the chagrin of her agent, who thought musicals were a backwater and a step down compared with the offers of movie roles that were still flooding in. He had set up meetings with producers to humor her, but when talks turned to auditions and auditions to negotiations, be began to worry. To leave L.A. for a year and decamp to New York for faded out old Broadway? What was she thinking?

_"Respect and credibility, Steve," she told her agent months before. "Once people see that I can act and sing without computer filtering, then maybe they'll stop trampling me in the press." _

_"Rachel, you'll always be a target for naysayers and that whole ilk," he had told her. "But that doesn't mean you have to throw a year of your life away, maybe more if they extend the run, on a half-dead medium." _

_"My mind is made up, Steven," Rachel told him, gathering her shawl and sunglasses. "So alert the team, and as soon as I can get word that Fletcher is in at Riverdale Country School or Columbia Grammar, you can have a realtor find me a nice apartment on the Upper East Side. South of the park is still way too skanky for me right now."_

While Rachel showers, Frank lumbers to the bathroom, lowers his head over his sink and opens the tap on his head. Then he stands up straight again and looks at himself in the mirror, smoothing back his bed head and getting ready to shave.

"Rachel, are you sure you want to spend all of the next day with your family out in New Jersey right after we get there?" He pumps a blue shave gel out of a can and lathers his face with it. "I mean, we could at least take the first few days to ourselves, unpack and get settled couldn't we?"

Rachel pulls the shower curtain back and reaches for a bottle of conditioner on the shelf nearby.

"It's better to get the pain over with upfront," she says, disappearing back into the hot steam. "After that, we won't have to see them more than once a month while we're out there, if that. Trust me, it's by mutual agreement."

"Do they really feel that way, or are you being dramatic?"

Rachel answers by launching a loofa sponge at Frank's head. He looks over in the direction of the shower and shakes his head, finishing his shave.

"You just wait, Rachel. I'm going to fix that ss later!" He grins and yells over the torrent of water and singing so she can hear him. Then his face turns a little serious again. "My father is already out there. This is his first trip back East since a college reunion a decade ago. At least he can show us around a little when we get out there, and make this whole ... family get together a major feast."

Despite getting up last, Frank is the first to get dressed and enters the kitchen, smiling at Hyacinth.

"Good morning," he says, stopping to look at the near feast she's created. Rachel had asked for a simple continental breakfast, but Hyacinth couldn't help but create a whole spread with two types of croissants, bagels, fresh fruit, sausages and ackee and salt fish, a specialty that she liked to cook for Rachel, and that Rachel never turned down. She even made chocolate tea from bars imported from her hometown in Jamaica.

"I've heard of this chocolate tea, Hyacinth," Frank says, shaking his head and pulling the lever on the tall silver carafe. "But isn't this something you normally serve at Christmas?"

"Yes, it is," she arranges a stack of plates at the buffet. "But I won't see Miss Rachel while she is in New York, and she will be with family during Christmas, so this is really a send off."

"But it's not goodbye," Frank says, taking a sip. "She'll fly back to meet with Bill, record songs from the musical's score for the album, and make sure the contractors are on the up and up. And Rachel got you to promise to make her wedding cake."

"Yes, but it won't be like before," Hyacinth says. "And I'm almost ready to launch my business."

"Well, I'll miss your escovitched fish, that's for sure," Frank says, walking away. "And the Mauby, the oxtail, the jerked port. Tell me again why Rachel is allowing you to go?"

After Rachel and Fletcher get downstairs, Bill shows up, handing Frank the newspaper and chatting. Breakfast passes relatively quietly. As Rachel spreads butter on Fletcher's toasted bagel, the phone rings. Rachel is called to it, and she reluctantly takes the call. She doesn't seem to enjoy the conversation, as she lowers her head, runs a hand through her wavy hair and turns her back to everyone else in the kitchen. At last, the conversation is over, and she returns to her chair around the eating island, right next to him. Frank notices her agitated demeanor and sets down his juice.

"What's going on?"

Rachel shakes her head and mumbles that it is nothing, which Frank doesn't believe. He reaches to over and wraps his left hand around her neck gently. The warm strength of Frank's touch startles Rachel at first, and when she flinches a stern look ripples across Frank's face.

"You don't have to tell me about that phone call right now, Rachel," Frank says. "But we'll talk about this later, OK?"

Rachel nods and holds his hand.

After breakfast, Frank and Bill huddle with Rachel's assistants to review schedules, checklists, and ensure that Rachel's life will be run smoothly while she is on the East Coast. Right after that, Rachel assembles her staff to hand out small parting gifts and bonuses. Only a skeletal crew will remain while she's gone, people to maintain the landscaping and keep a small suite tidy for when she comes back to record tracks from the musical score. Even then, they will be in rotation, working part time. A couple of months after they settle in New York, Frank will set off for the Middle East, to consult on security for a U.S. ambassador's house.

As Rachel, Frank and Fletcher hug through their goodbyes with the staff, Hyacinth lingers a little, rubbing Rachel's back before letting her go. There are no tears, but joking and laughing as Hyacinth tells Rachel to "mash up and blaze up the place" at the Binskoff Theater in New York.

After one last embrace, Rachel follows Frank to the car. Old habits being what they are, he slides into the front passenger seat, where he will watch Rachel and Fletcher through the visor mirror. The ride to LAX airport is quite. It's as if this blended, not-quite-official family is going on a picnic, instead of across the country to a colder, more sharp-edged city, where they will confront a smarmier, more overt type of arrogance in people, and their bond will be tested.

Fletcher talks Rachel into a round of Super Mario on his Gameboy, but Frank notices that Rachel is not fully attentive. She stares out of the window, drums her finger on the door's armrest and sighs. She is like that for the rest of the journey, too, after they land in LaGuardia and make their way south through Manhattan to 73rd Street. She smiles politely at Fletcher's jokes, enough to avoid him calling her out for being distracted. Yet while she gets by with Fletcher, she cannot appease Frank's worrisome glances in her direction.

The Upper East Side neighborhood is surprisingly quiet, at least when they get there. There is the ambient noise of traffic and students rehearsing at a music school across the street. Their street is leafy, the streets are dotted with fine cars, joggers and the occasional Caribbean nanny pushing along fancy prams.

Herb is already at the house, and hugs Frank and Rachel before they walk up the front steps.

After the assistant turns the key in the lock of the front door, Frank, Rachel and Fletcher tumble through the vestibule, with an art deco mosaic, and open another door into the main entry hall. The adults are struck by the "architectural triumph that takes you back to Edith Wharton's New York," according to the realtor's description. It has contemporary updates on pocket doors, molding around the doorways and arches, stain glass windows and ribbon floors. But Fletcher and the assistant head straight for the backyard to test drive it with the dog. Herb follows a few moments later.

The realtor leaves a key on the island of the kitchen, updated with high-end appliances and "all the comforts fit for a gourmand." Frank and Rachel look at each other, and almost roll her eyes. The woman, a hip New York dowager, with a dramatic cashmere shawl, sleek haircut and a sparkling yellow diamond on her right hand, spins around and follows Rachel to the front door.

After Rachel closes the door behind the realtor, she walks back to Frank, who is at the back door talking to Fletcher, Herb and the assistant.

"Why don't you guys check out the park? We need to talk about a couple of things."

They all agree, and promise to be back before supper. After they leave, Frank catches Rachel around the waist and pulls her close.

"We need to talk, Rachel," Frank says.

"Yeah," Rachel rests her arms on his shoulders. "I agree. But first I'm a little jet lagged. I need to get my head right, you know?"

While Rachel is talking, she plants small kisses on Frank's lips, chin, cheeks and finally behind his ear.

"I asked the maid to set up the bedrooms first. Maybe we could just unpack and chill out up there a bit?" Frank answers, kissing Rachel deeply, then increasingly passionately, until he mentally promises to bring up the phone call with Rachel after dinner. Or after a walk in the park. But certainly before they head out to New Jersey tomorrow for dinner with her family.

—END—

* * *

_Coming up next: "Something Old, Something New" In that installment, Frank meets Rachel's family; Herb runs into an old acquaintance; and Rachel's past relationship collides with her new life._


	2. Something Old, Something New

Hi Franchel fans,

I hope you'll forgive this half chapter. I meant to write about the visit to Rachel's family's house, but I remembered that I hadn't written an episode at all for the deleted undressing scene! For shame. Well, here it is. My take on what Frank and Rachel were thinking that night. But I actually found a neat way to tie it into the current story. Happy reading.

* * *

As Frank guides Rachel upstairs and through their bedroom door, she pulls at his clothes with near-manic hunger, remembering the first time she tried to seduce Frank. It was after the riot that broke out at Club Mayan …

_The chaos was terrifying, as the crowd passed her through the air like a rag doll. When they dropped her it was by sheer luck that she landed on her feet in front of Frank. Rachel was so shaken up that, for once, she didn't have a snappy comeback for what just transpired. After Frank brought her home and walked her to Fletcher's room, he walked her to her own and ushered her inside. _

_That's when an entirely different type of panic swept over Rachel. As they stood next to her bed, Rachel wondered if she should have thanked Frank for plucking her out of that frightening mob, and whether he even expected it. And how would he respond, by lecturing her about why she should heed his pleas for caution? The thing was, he didn't seem like his usual stony faced self. She hoped he was starting to respect and value her, especially after seeing her work hard physically to stay on top of her game. As they stood close, she looked into his face, a rather handsome one up close, with a kindness to it that she had never noticed before. Their lips hovered closely. Should she give in and press hers to his? He didn't seem to mind her breath whispering past his cheek. And was he casing her out? Did he want her to move in first? Rachel wouldn't have minded falling into his arms again._

_Instead of kissing Rachel, Frank sat her on the bed, gently. He slid his jacket off her shoulders and would have simply walked away, but Rachel's small set eyes, always appealing despite her fiery temperament, scanned up his body and asked, 'will you stay?'_

_The memory of that crush of people had her still scared, still needy and still unwilling to be alone. So he knelt down in front of her and pulled at the zipper of her boot, his finger grazing her inner thigh. She watched him remove her boots carefully, and every gesture made her want to pull him close to her. Frank was so respectful. It had been a welcome change from earlier, when the crowd, mostly guys, took every opportunity to tear off her costuming and grope her. Rachel's dark eyes shimmered with tears remembering the faces, and how wanton and cold they were. Her skin burned remembering where and how they touched her. Frank was so different! If he wanted to, he could have taken the opportunity Rachel was giving him and no one would have found out, or blamed him. He was needed. _

_Frank finished peeling off Rachel's costume, then pushed aside her dolls and leaned her back onto the pillows. She really had expected more of a lecture._

_"Don't you want to know why I behave that way?"_

_"I already know," Frank said. He picked up his jacket and walked to the door, Rachel's eyes following him. Rachel didn't feel passed over or put down. For the first time in a long while, she felt respected. As she drifted off to sleep, Rachel spotted a small white square on the floor. She pushed her duvet away and got out of bed to pick it up._

_After that, Frank returned some autonomy to Rachel, letting her jog alone if she adhered to a course he laid out nearby. It was just before one of those runs, with his handkerchief in the pocket of her track suit, that Rachel asked Frank out._

During this early morning reverie, Frank's arm rests across Rachel's midriff. She turns her head toward his face, watching as he sleeps beautifully. Rachel slides carefully from under Frank, not waking him, and twists around to pull open her nightstand drawer. She pulls out the same small white square that she had picked up from her floor that night two and a half years earlier. It was Frank's, monogrammed 'FF.' That night it had smelled faintly of his sweat and aftershave, but over time, Rachel had reluctantly washed it-in a mesh bag with her lingerie-and it took on a softer scent. Rachel traced Frank's initials with her fingernails, remembering that those six square inches of cloth had often been just as important to her as the man who rightfully owned it.

She had folded it into a small rectangle and tucked it into the bejeweled clutch that she carried to the Grammy Awards that year. It followed her to Dubai, Shanghai, and a callback for "Black Widow." She got the part, but the production was languishing in the pre-production phase after a heated argument broke out between the director and executive producer. It was invaluable, and she never mistreated it, not even after Frank had coldly brushed her off their first morning together. It was the handkerchief she held in her right hand as she kissed him goodbye on the tarmac.

That little square reminded her so much of what Frank stood for, that Rachel decided to come clean and tell him about the phone calls. They were from Fletcher's father, who was trying to get back into their lives and have a relationship with his son. Whatever she decided, she felt that she owed it to Frank to be part of the decision-making process. Fletcher was practically Frank's stepson at this point, and they got along so well that sometimes Fletcher didn't even bother introducing him as his "step" anything. So if they worked out a time sharing agreement, it would affect Frank, too.

She returns the handkerchief to the drawer, then slips out of bed, leaving Frank there, and heads for the bathroom for a shower. After she shuts the water off, she reaches for a towel and wraps it around herself. She hears Frank come into the bathroom and go through his routine. Despite the noise from him moving around, he startles her when he pulls back the curtain to the shower.

"Hey. Morning," Frank smiled. "Up ahead of me as usual, I see."

"Morning, baby," she lets him lean in and kiss her as she wrings water out of her ponytail. "Listen, Frank. I want to tell you what's been going on, OK?"

"Sure, yeah," he said. He leans one arm on the bathroom wall and holds her in the other.

"But it's complicated, and I want to get through today with my family before we sit down," Rachel continues. "But I promise that after we get back tonight, and it's quiet again, I'll tell you all about it."

"OK. That sounds good," he kisses her again.

Shortly after breakfast, Rachel is sitting at her vanity table. She draws a perfect line of crimson around her lips with a pencil, and then glances up at Frank. He's walking out of the bathroom toward her, buttoning his cuffs.

"Hey, handsome," Rachel smiles at him as she smoothes on red lipstick.

"That's enough flattery out of you, young lady," Frank says. Rachel shrugs and shakes her head, affecting innocence. Frank watches her as she starts touching her hair. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Rachel. I've enjoyed the last 18 hours, but three times? Something's up."

"I'm a Leo, so when I want something I take it. That's what's up, among other things," Rachel zips her cosmetic case shut and tosses it into her handbag. "Anyway, Frank. You'll be leaving for the Emirates in a couple of months. I need to take what I can get while I can."

"If you weren't such an amazing woman, that remark would make me feel really cheap and slutty," Frank mutters through a grin.

Rachel stands up and wraps her arms around Frank's waist.

"If you want cheap and slutty, we can meet at a hotel somewhere while Fletcher's at school, and ..."

Rachel moves in closer and kisses Frank deeply. He's the first one to break free, reluctantly.

"Rachel, the car is going to be here in 15 minutes," he says. "We should go downstairs."

When they get downstairs, they see Fletcher showing Herb how to play one of his video games. Frank would have preferred to drive the Range Rover, but Rachel thought it would be best to use the limo and driver in case, in her words, her father's family drove them to drink. Frank rolls his eyes and mutters, "my melodramatic fiance. The theater is the perfect place for you."

Rachel silently tells him to talk to the hand, and begins playing with her bracelet while hoping that the day goes smoothly.


	3. The Visitor

_Hi readers. I had to tweak and update this chapter, since I originally posted it. In it, Frank learns more about Rachel's past ... both the positive and the negative. It starts off with a little family history, which I thought was necessary to explain how Rachel has become the person she is. The visit really picks up toward the ... well, you have to read to find out! Enjoy._

* * *

Rachel's mother's name was Anne Marie Pelham, and before she married David Fletcher Marron and moved out to the Squirrel Hill section of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Anne Marie grew up near a farm in the central region of New Jersey. This was an unusual location at the time for a Black family, and even more so because Anne Marie's father Nigel had emigrated from Jamaica to be a farm steward. It was bad enough that he came to a frigid northern state, he thought, and life for a mother, father and four kids in a cramped apartment in Brooklyn or Paterson on top of that was unthinkable. Rachel's Jamaican grandparents raised her mother, other aunt and two uncles in a tidy, roomy apartment, then a three-bedroom house in a neighboring town.

Rachel unfolded her maternal family history to Frank and Herb while being driven out to New Jersey, and they listen intently.

"He eventually took over and owned the place, bought his boss out?" Herb asked. Both Frank and Rachel nod. He has heard the story before, and so has Fletcher. Rachel nodded and explains that she and Nikki spent a lot of summers on the farm with her cousins Christiana and Christiana's older brother Eldon.

"Those were mostly good days, except for the time Eldon shot me with an arrow," Rachel said, and then she saw Frank's look of surprise. "He didn't actually hit me. The arrow went through by shirt and pinned me to the ground."

As they turn off the main road, Rachel explains that they would meet her cousins Christiana who would be there throughout the visit, and Eldon who would come later, plus an aunt, uncle in-law and another female cousin, but that the group would still be incomplete.

"Still sounds like a large party to me," says Herb.

"Oh, Pelham family gatherings can sound like a loud, thundering hers, trust me," Rachel says. "But don't worry. This should be a quiet evening."

"Dad, if you think that's something, wait until you hear them start talking in that accent," Frank says. "It's just like Hyacinth. You won't understand a word!"

"My whole family isn't Jamaican, just my mother's side," Rachel shrugs and smiles, then pulls out her compact to check her makeup as they spot the house, an understated, majestic building looming in the background.

"Well, that's the side we're meeting today," says Frank. "I just hope I can learn everybody's names before I start losing my actual memory from old age!"

"We'll be there soon," she says, jabbing him in the ribs. "Fletcher put your shoes back on!"

Soon, they pull into a long driveway on a sprawling farm. The late summer heat is mellow, and they can smell rows of honeysuckle along the fence approaching the house. The Pelhams had converted much of the land into a pick-your-own farm, and the family would have the share the space with patrons. Most of the patrons stop their work and stare with mouths ajar as the champagne limo, an unlikely farm vehicle, bobs and rolls past apple orchards and rows of berries.

When they reach the house, Rachel's cousin Christiana walks out to the car to meet them. Frank explains to Herb who she is, approvingly, saying she was one of the chattier and helpful relatives at Nikki's funeral in Los Angeles and that they chat briefly on the phone whenever she calls the house to speak to Rachel.

Christiana moves in to hug Rachel first, and greets Fletcher similarly, marveling at how much he has grown. They head to the house, where Christiana has been supervising lunch and dinner preparations.

"You know, I could use a break, and maybe you want a refreshment after two hours on the road," Christiana says. "Why don't you meet everyone, have something light, and then we can saddle up and ride one of the trails?"

In a half hour, they are in the barn, where Rachel is showing Fletcher how to saddle his horse. They set off, at first walking past fields of corn, vegetables and wildflowers. Then Christiana leads the party to a neighboring property, and turns around in her saddle to explain that they have permission to gallop or trot. Herb shows Fletcher how to trot, but Frank, Rachel and Christiana all break into an easy gallop.

After a few minutes, the trio stops, and reins in their horses.

"You all make quite the posse!"

"Yeah, a posse of three," Rachel laughs.

"Sometimes that's all you need," says Christiana. "Listen, we've been out for over an hour. I want to keep on track with the meals and everything, so I'll invite Herb and Fletcher to come back with me. You two can stay out a little longer. Just bring him back within the hour so we can eat."

Rachel nods and waves bye to Christiana, who gallops away. After she is out of site, Rachel guides her horse over to Frank's and steers him toward a trail deeper into the woods.

"Come on, let's take advantage of this quiet time," Rachel says. She trots her horse around Frank's and smiles in a way that Frank takes as flirtatious. "She gave us almost an hour."

"Rachel, I'm flattered, but there's no way after riding this horse ..."

"Oh, get over yourself, please!" Rachel laughs. "I just mean I want to talk to you about what's been going on. Now that we're alone."

Rachel leads Frank along a wooded trail for about 25 minutes, until Frank realizes they've looped around the neighbor's property and reached the back of the orchards. They come to a small clearing with a small stream. She dismounts and tethers her horse to a tree, then guides Frank's horse over near hers. After Frank dismounts, he walks over to Rachel and wraps his arms around her, pulling her to sit on the ground with him. Frank and Rachel don't make much conversation for the next few minutes. They don't even kiss, just quietly hold each other and listen to the brook. After a few minutes, Rachel sits up straighter and looks at Frank.

"Frank, Fletcher's father, Terrell, has been calling me lately," Rachel says. "He wants to see his son, and regularly."

Frank takes a deep breath and straightens up. "How long has he been calling you?"

"About a month," Rachel's voice goes quiet, and she drops her head. "I didn't want to say anything, because I thought if I blew him off, he'd eventually go away. But that didn't happen."

"You should have told me sooner, Rachel," Frank says, swinging his arm over Rachel's head and away from her. "Technically, he's been calling my house too."

Frank is quiet for a few minutes, as he looks at the horses and his surroundings.

"Well, he is Fletcher's father, who is turning into an impressive young man," Frank continues. "I don't blame him for wanting to see the boy. But didn't you say he was up on some charges at one point?"

"Yes, unfortunately he was indicted and charged and stood trial for some ... " Rachel's voice trails off, shaking her head. "For possession. He was acquitted, and that was the end of that. But that's all in the past and people can change, right?"

"They can," Frank says, although he is a bit skeptical about it.

"He wasn't always this guy who was in trouble all the time with the law and everything," Rachel says. "That's not the guy who I conceived Fletcher with."

Frank listens as Rachel talks about her early relationship with Terrell, and shakes his head as Rachel talks about Terrell eventually slacking, being greedy and mercenary with his ambitions, yet unwilling to financially support her or Fletcher. She told him about how Nikki stepped in to help watch Fletcher as she auditioned and went on for gigs and recorded her first demo.

"Terrell was nowhere to be found," Rachel says. "It was really Bill and Nikki who sustained me. Of course, I believed in my voice and my singing. But they were the ones who really believed in my success."

"Do you know much about what he's been up to in recent years?" Frank asks. Rachel hesitates for a moment, but then shakes her head. Frank pulls her close and tells her Terrell is the one who lost out, but as Frank hugs her, Rachel can barely conceal her mixed emotions and apprehensions.

"Come on, let's get back," Rachel reluctantly pulls out of Frank's warm hug. "I'm looking forward to peace and quiet and a meal."

Back on Pelham Farm, they get just that. It's Frank's turn to listen to funny stories about Rachel, and almost everyone who did not ride in the limo to New Jersey has one. In the lull before dinner, Rachel's relatives talk her into playing and singing on the piano, and even her uncle and one of her cousins sing. Frank realizes that the Pelhams have the musical talent in the family. Even Christiana plays a couple of jazz standards proficiently and with emotion.

At one point, Rachel begins to stretch and yawn, mentioning that her New York vocal coach has been putting her through punishing drills to get her to project her voice from a stage assisted by different microphones and not the mikes in stands that she is used to for her concert. Rehearsals are winding down in the summer for a fall opening.

"What's the production again?" Her uncle asks.

"Porgy and Bess," Rachel answers. She explains that she was in talks to do a 'Chicago' revival at first, but the production never came together, but that Porgy and Bess worked out beautifully. As the day winds down to twilight, Rachel finds a spare bedroom and stretches out on the bed for a catnap. She was lying on her side and staring out of the window when she heard the door open, and moments later, the bed sank under Frank's weight. He gathers her close to him and kisses her neck.

"I thought you said your family was something else, a piece of work," Frank says. That makes Rachel turn around to look him in the face. "They seem really alright to me. Christiana seems really nice," Frank continues. Rachel looks away for a minute, then takes a deep breath.

"She is cool, but there's only a handful like her." Rachel says. "Hopefully, we'll get out of here before any madness -"

The sound of boisterous conversation downstairs cuts Rachel off, and she pauses to try to sift the newly arrived voices from whom they've been spending their day with.

"That voice sounds like Eldon's," she says. But the sound of the second voice makes her sit bolt upright with panic.

"Look at you! So big. I haven't seen you since you were learning to walk! Come over here, don't just stand there."

Rachel covers her mouth in horror. Eyes widened and darting all around her, she

looks like she's about to either be sick or pass out. Or both.

"It can't be," she says, pulling on her shoes. "They wouldn't DARE!"

Frank tries to hold Rachel back, to get her to gather her thoughts before leaving the bedroom, but she slips away form him and runs down the hallway, finds the stairs and practically flies down them to the first floor. She doesn't take the time to think, to work out a greeting that's perfectly phrased, controlled and civil. Terrell, at her grandfather's farm? Whose idea was this?

And those are the first words that escape Rachel when she stalks into the cavernous kitchen area to find, to her horror, Terrell kneeling in front of Fletcher and rubbing his head. No one answers her at first, taken back a bit at her hastily tidied hair and fierce scowl.

"Who did this? Who invited him?" She walks over to Fletcher and takes Terrell's hand off of his head. Fletcher is confused, because the man kneeling in front of him is clearly the source of his chin, nose, and ears. Even the man's teeth remind him of his own. But he was a complete stranger, and his overeager greeting was unnerving to both the boy and his mother.

"I did, Rachel," Eldon says bluntly. He has a matter of fact attitude, for which Rachel has no patience. "I got a call from Terrell that he's in New York and that he'd been in touch with you. Since I knew I would be here today, I figured it would be alright."

"Well, it's not!" Rachel flashes. "This is crazy, Eldon. Couldn't you have told me what was going on? Why did you have to blindside me like this?"

Christiana steps in, putting an arm around Rachel and a hand on Fletcher's shoulder.

"Maybe this isn't the best time to sort out how this happened," she says, then turns to glare at Eldon. "Obviously, this could have been handled better. Maybe Terrell and Rachel could talk for a few minutes before anyone says anything else to Fletcher."

"That's a great idea," Frank steps forward.

"Come on, Fletcher." Christiana volunteers to take the boy aside and wait for Terrell and Rachel to talk. Terrell stands up straight and looks from Frank to Rachel. He is completely unimpressed with Frank, and doesn't conceal his disdain.

"So this is Frank, huh?" Terrell extends a hand, and Frank takes it while studying everything about him that he can. "How you doing, man?"

Terrell reeks of insincerity, from his overly precise haircut to a perfectly tailored suit and the way he has of looking past people as he speaks to them. He knows he's a good-looking and charismatic guy, but has an air of boredom about him as he moves around.

Rachel whispers in Frank's ear that the whole situation is very sudden and she doesn't want to meet with Terrell alone. He answers by squeezing her hand holding her chin. A few moments later, the three are in the study, with Rachel and Frank on the couch as Terrell stations himself behind the desk.

"So what can I do for the two of you?" Terrell laughs.

"I don't think this is funny at all, Terrell," Rachel says.

"It sure is! You need to lighten up, Rachel," he says. "So I forgot to call you? Would it have made a difference if I had phoned you up? Would you have said 'Sure come meet your boy?'"

"Don't try to turn this around on me, Terrell," Rachel says. "This was wrong, and you know it."

Frank interjects, not wanting to watch the two former lovers quarrel.

"Just what brings you here, Terrell?"

"I wanted to see my son," he says. "What's so wrong about that?"

"You should have told me you wanted to do this," Rachel says. "I would have figured out a different way."

"No, I'm, tired of being strung along," Terrell says. "Look, no offense. I don't mean to make trouble in your new situation, really. I just knew you wouldn't go in for a face-to-face so soon after the way dinner ended a couple of weeks, ago, Rachel."

Frank had been leaning back casually on the couch, with his arm around Rachel and stroking his jaw with the free hand. But he dropped that hand and looked at Rachel.

"What's he talking about, Rachel?" Rachel's breath quickens, and her hands, which had been resting on her knees, are now balled up in panic.

"We had dinner a couple of weeks ago, in L.A. right before you flew back from London, Frank," Terrell says. Terrell glances at Rachel's ring, still brilliant after a year into her engagement. "I'm surprised that Rachel didn't tell you that."

* * *

_In the next installment: Rachel tries to make an awkward situation easier for Frank; a demanding rehearsal schedule for Rachel's Broadway show deprives Frank of the time he thought he would have with Rachel before he leaves; Terrell tries to make amends for his conduct on the Pelhamses farm._


	4. Food Fight

_Previously ... _

_Rachel, Frank, Fletcher and Herb visit Rachel's grandfather's farm. Teh visit runs smoothly, until Fletcher's father shows up and rattles cages—beginning with Frank's._

* * *

Frank smiles dryly, to no one in particular, and resumes stroking his jaw.

"What are you doing, Terrell?" Rachel snaps at her ex. "Frank, I was going to ... you know ... tell you all about it."

"When, Rachel?" Frank says. He doesn't raise his voice, but stays composed and drags his eyes up to her face and stares for a moment. Rachel plays with a lock of her hair, which has grown past her shoulders. Then Frank turns to Terrell. "I heard there's a new restaurant on Crenshaw, called Soulstice. Is that where you met up? The prices seem reasonable. How is the food there?"

A smug smile slides off of Terrell's face, while Rachel stops playing with her hair to look from Frank to her ex. Terrell clears his throat and sits up in the chair.

"Yeah, that's where we had dinner," Terrell says, trying to find his footing again. "We took our time, catching up. We had a lot of unfinished business to talk about, you know?"

"Yeah, I can guess," Frank says, raising his right ankle to rest on his left knee. He looks cool and unperturbed, so Terrell cuts deeper.

"You know it's funny," he says. "With that ring on her finger, people thought we were engaged."

"Terrell, you need to stop," Rachel says. "Frank, maybe we should go."

Rachel stands up to leave, but Frank doesn't.

"Who do you think you're talking to, Terrell?" he says. "Some ape? I can handle the fact that Rachel wasn't a virgin when we met. It looks like you can't handle the fact that someone else is doing your job. And better."

"Man, you don't know shit!" Terrell snaps to his feet and walks away from the desk. "Nothing but a part-time lover and wannabe step father."

"At least I'm some kind of father," Frank says, holding his position. "You've been gone for eight years. Where were you when Fletcher fell out of a tree at camp and dislocated his shoulder? Who taught him how to clock that bully at school?"

Terrell is now standing in front of Rachel, looking down at Frank. Rachel is looking worried, knowing that Terrell needs to stop, but unsure about whether she should reach out to hold him back. But Frank isn't done.

"And I'm not worried about the part-time lover crack," Frank says. "I know why you felt the need to say that."

"What do you know about it?"

"I can relate to why you would regret letting an amazing woman go," Frank says, flicking a piece of lint off his pant leg. "But that's not really my problem now."

"I will be your problem if you leave this 'amazing woman' by herself," Terrell huffs. "Especially to run off and protect some rich sshole in the dessert."

Both Frank and Rachel are speechless, but Frank takes action. He stands up and faces Terrell, who is about an inch taller.

"Terrell, stop now," Rachel says. This time, she steps between them, but Terrell reaches over and pulls Rachel by the arm out of the way, roughly.

In a couple of moves, Frank grabs Terrell by the neck and pushes him away from Rachel. Then he the twists Terrell's arm and pushes his face into the floor. Terrell's howl is muffled into the carpet, so it's Rachel's call for order and the sounds of a struggle that summons Christiana, Eldon, their parents and Herb upstairs.

There is a minor commotion as everyone takes in the scene, of Frank pushing Terrell's neck and face into the carpet and wrenching his arm behind his back.

"Frank, please stop now," Rachel says, tugging on his arm. "Let's just go."

He does let go, and steps away from Terrell, who gets up and accuses him of being insane. Herb and Christiana walk in, while the rest ask Terrell if he's OK. He has a final burst of pride.

"He came at me first," Terrell says. "That's all the more reason a level-headed person needs to be around my boy, instead of this maniac."

The words sting Rachel more than Frank, because she remembers when she was the one hurling abusive language at Frank, and accusing him of irrational behavior, too.

"He only stepped forward because you grabbed me, Terrell," Rachel says. "Otherwise, he would have kept his cool the whole time." Rachel directs part of her comments to Christiana, and explains that Frank would never start a fight unless he was provoked.

"Or just has a ufcked up attitude, in general," Terrell says.

As the crowd settles down, Christiana says that dinner will be on the table in five minutes. Frank apologizes for the confusion, and Christiana says it's no big deal. Rachel and Frank stay behind while the room clears.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," Frank says. "But that guy is trouble! And we need to be careful not to let him get too close."

Rachel doesn't say anything as Frank leaves next. He tells Christiana that he's going outside for a cigarette and then he'll come inside to wash hands before dinner. Outside the house, Frank walks up to the cars and pulls a black notebook out of his jacket pocket. Two other cars had pulled up to Christiana's house and parked since he and Rachel had arrived. One was a black Mercedes, and the other a red Jeep Cherokee. He figured the SUV, being flashier, belonged to Terrell, so he wrote down the license plate number on that. He took down the number on the black Mercedes, too, before putting the notebook away. The driveway isn't visible from the dining room, so he walks over to the Jeep Cherokee and checks to see if the doors were locked. He takes a handkerchief out of another pocket and pulls open the passenger door. Then he opens the glove compartment, where he finds documents confirming that the car belonged to Terrell, and a small wallet-sized photo of Rachel and Terrell. Rachel looks very young and happy in that picture, but he doesn't want to dwell on it, so he puts it back into place. He looks around the rest of the car, which is a bit disheveled, but doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. He is about to leave when he sees a small white piece of paper. It's a receipt, detailing that a $325 attempted credit card purchase at an electronics store had been declined.

He studies the information on the slip of paper for a minute, and then puts it back. Then he shut the door quietly and walked back into the house.

Right after Frank leaves the office, Rachel rubs her face and decides to go downstairs to dinner. But when she walks into the dining room, she can't find Frank. Everyone is taking their seats, and she is about to take hers, but she realizes he is missing. Terrell is on the other end of the table, yanking a chair back and dropping himself in it.

"Where is Frank?"

"He said he wanted to go outside to have a cigarette," Fletcher says. Rachel pauses, knowing that Frank doesn't smoke. At first, she wants to go look for him, but then she realizes that he probably made up that excuse for a reason.

Frank gets to the table just as they are about to bless the food. Rachel asks him if he is OK, and he winks at her. Rachel deliberately avoids Terrell's glances and she tries to talk Frank up to the hosts, to make up for the scene earlier. Every time the conversation takes another turn, she finds a way to mention one of Frank's virtues. It has the effect of drawing attention to him, which he handles by trying to deflect and push away. By dessert and coffee, he reaches over to squeeze Rachel's hand.

"Rachel, stop trying so hard," he says.

But it is Herb and Christiana's father, Ellington, who lighten the mood. They realize that they went to rival colleges, and graduated the same year. Part of the dinner is spent with them lightly trash talking the other's school. Then Ellington says he has a confession, which slows down the momentum of eating and chatting significantly.

"My fraternity stole your school's mascot the year we graduated. The hawk," he says. "It was our celebration prank."

Herb drops his fork and sits back in his chair.

"What are you saying?" He says, looking at Ellington, who explains how his fraternity broke through fortifications where the animal was kept and took it away, holding it for ransom. They replaced the majestic bird with a dozen yellow chicks.

"One of the fraternities on our campus got blamed for it," Herb says, incredulously. "IT almost came down on all our heads!"

The table erupts in chatter for more details, which brings much-needed levity to the evening.

After they wrap up dinner, Christiana and Rachel are in the kitchen. Rachel is helping with the clean up while Christiana packs crates of produce for Rachel to take back to their house in the city, and at a certain point Terrell joins them. He makes a point of being very helpful to Rachel and Christiana. As the women give each other glances, he starts to speak up about the confrontation earlier.

"Look, Rachel I'm really sorry about earlier," Terrell says, folding a dish towel. "I mean, I just really think I pushed too hard and when things didn't go my way, I got an attitude about it. I was wrong."

He extends a hand to Rachel, who hesitates at first, glancing at Frank in the great room playing Uno with Fletcher and Christiana's daughter. Then she takes it slowly. Terrell's strong hand closes over hers gently, and he gives it a firm squeeze, though he doesn't hurt her. The Terrell leaves the kitchen to huddled with Eldon and a couple of other family members. He decides that he has to leave early, and excuses himself. He turns a few heads, including Rachel's as he makes his exit conspicuous. He doesn't acknowledge Frank at all.

"Can I get a hug goodbye?" he directs the question to Fletcher, who looks at his mother, who looks at Frank. Frank rolls his eyes and shrugs. So Rachel walks over to Fletcher and takes him by the hand to say goodbye to Terrell. She stands behind him, hands on his shoulders, as Terrell leans over and rests his hands on his knees. Their goodbye is short.

"I'll see you soon, OK?" Terrell touches Fletcher's chin and shakes it. Then he stands up and says goodbye to Rachel. Fletcher merely races back to the great room.

Christiana watches the whole scene and a question ripples across her brow.

"Rachel, have you set a date yet for the wedding?"

Rachel shakes her head no, which makes Christiana's eyes go wide.

"Well, you better hurry, before my daughter snatches him from you," Christiana says. She points with her chin at the scene in the great room. Her 9-year old daughter is playing Uno with Frank and Fletcher. She's constantly digging through a prettily decorated box to get little sparkly, glittery costume jewelry to model for Frank. Every time he says something is "very pretty," she goes back into the box to switch out the pieces and show him something else. First there was a tiara, then a bracelet, then two rings. And she asks him at least three or four questions between each foray into the box, about everything from where he's been in the world to what kind of food he likes to eat, and why he didn't each much dessert. When she asks if he's wearing a black shirt because it's his favorite color, Fletcher becomes visibly irritated.

"Pay attention when it's your _turn_!"

She is unflappably sweet, and despite Fletcher rolling his eyes and sighing, continues to smile and make great efforts to befriend Frank.

As the evening winds down, Herb and Christiana's father lead everyone in a group photo. Christiana warns Rachel not to be a stranger.

It's almost ten o'clock when they've packed up the car, given final hugs and pulled away from the farm. Herb relaxes quietly, while Fletcher nods off to sleep almost as soon as they hit the highway. Frank pulls Rachel closer to him and examines her left hand, and the ring that he put there almost a year earlier. He never questioned Rachels feelings or devotion toward him whenever he traveled, and wasn't about to start. But he still didn't want to give anyone the impression that she was in limbo or up for grabs.

"So what about Christiana's question, Rachel? Setting a date?" he asks.

Rachel shrugs and sighs. The idea of planning lunch was overwhelming at times, much less a wedding.

"Well, I'd need a wedding planner to help me, but … what three months after you get back from overseas again?" Rachel says. "That should give you enough time to get a tux and everything. That would make it a June wedding."

"You see? Everything is looking positive already," he says.

* * *

_In the next installment, I'll actually get into Rachel's demanding schedule eating into precious time with Frank before he goes; Terrell tries to change the impression that he's made on his son; and Rachel gets a nudge to move ahead with wedding plans._


	5. The Sixth Day

_Previously …_  
_Frank visits Rachel's family on their farm in New Jersey, and they have an enjoyable time reconnecting and making new friends. Herb and Rachel's uncle realized they went to rival schools that were involved in a major prank their graduating year. Terrell crashes the gathering, putting Frank and Rachel on edge, and Frank persuades Rachel to set a wedding date._

* * *

Summer produce, pies and fruit preserves from Pelham Farm fill Frank and Rachel's pantry that evening, but nothing occupies the silence between them. They hadn't spoken, really, since leaving New Jersey, except for Frank's suggestion to set a wedding date. But his mood sank soon after that. Rachel traced it back to the moment when she had been leaning across Frank's lap and chest, watching through the window as the cars passed. She remarked on a bright red Jeep Cherokee that rolled by.

"Nice car," she remarked. Frank became frigid, and moved Rachel to sit up and away from the window, and off of him. They exchanged a few more uncomfortable lines in the limo, and after they got home, chatted mechanically while executing rote evening functions. Putting Fletcher to bed: 'Did Fletcher get off to bed alright?' 'Sure, and he was really tired.' On the connection between Herb and Rachel's uncle. ' What a coincidence, right?' 'Yeah. Dad even surprises me sometimes.' But nothing more.

After placing the last of the three small crates in a stack inside the mud room, Rachel fishes around for something meaningful to say, something to restore levity to Frank's mood.

"It was good to see Christiana again," she says, hoping to start a calm discussion. "She doesn't actually work on the farm full time. She's a partner in a vet's practice. She manages large animals and another doctor there handles the domesticated creatures. But Uncle Japheth is lucky to have her. She loves the farm."

Despite the long, eventful day and the lateness of the hour, Frank listens attentively. Rachel goes on nervously for a few minutes, and Frank watches her quietly. Despite feeling a little foolish about the way Rachel's dinner date with Terrell came out, Frank decides against the scolding that Rachel seems to be bracing for. He does something worse.

"Goodnight Rachel," and he holds her arm, placing a civil kiss on her forehead. Then he walks up to bed without another look or word for the rest of the night.

For the next two days, the weather outside is perfection. Mild, with only a hint of summer haze, an atmosphere that seems to have Made in Provence stamped on it, but bleakness hangs inside the walls of Rachel and Frank's townhouse. Frank is unfailingly polite toward Rachel, which irks her because although he is perfectly sweet around everyone else, he is short and gruff with her when they are alone.

**On the second day, Rachel and Herb cook breakfast as Frank and Fletcher set the table.** During the meal, Rachel fidgets and glances at Frank, who loudly crunches bacon while reading the newspaper. Herb mentions his plans. Rachel can't do anything to get Frank's attention. He ignores her white halter spring dress, even though Herb tells her that she looks nice. She pours Frank's coffee and he only grunts "thanks." She even offers to butter his toast, but he says he can handle it. Rachel wishes her assistant was there to talk to, but Frank had banished all her staff from breakfasts any day of the week, plus dinners on Sundays. He couldn't touch lunches, because of how often Rachel took meetings during those meals. He would have even excluded them from all meals during family visits if Rachel hadn't thrown a fit.

So she decides to talk about Fletcher's new private school, and upcoming orientation for fifth graders.

"Whoever heard of such a thing?!" Herb laughs, shakes his head and sets his coffee mug down. Rachel sees her chance.

"Well, it's mainly for the parents, since we have to be pretty involved," she laughs and twirls her fork, glancing at Frank. He puts down the newspaper and glances around at everyone. "That's good, right Frank?"

He pauses for a moment before answering. "I think bad parents don't need to be anywhere near their kids," Franks shrugs, leaning back in his chair.

Rachel's hopeful smile disappears.

"It's not always that simple, Frank," she sighs. "Things get complicated when two people have a child."

"Well, Rachel, come on," Franks says turning to face her. "Let's un-complicate it!"

"Why is everything so black and white with you?!"

"Somebody has to have their head on straight around here!"

The exchange would have gone on, but Herb steps in and halts Frank.

"Now Frank, ease up!" Herb leans forward on the table and glares at his son, pointing slightly at Fletcher. The boy is watching his mother, who is fidgeting with her fork and poking her food. "You two need to work that out, politely, somewhere away from the little guy. Let's talk about something else."

Frank backs down and retreats to the newspaper, while Rachel shakes her head.

"Maybe sightseeing is a better subject," Herb says. "I'm taking Fletcher to Coney Island today, and the day after that we're all going to a Yankees game."

After breakfast, Rachel's assistant arrives. She breezes in, sliding her headphones off and placing her portable CD player on the table in the entry hall. They chat for a few minutes, moving to the piano, where they open up a date book and review Rachel's itinerary for the next four days. There is an interview with The New York Times to kick off a press promotional blitz for her theater stint, a photo shoot, studio sessions and a conference call with Bill and her publicist. They work quietly until Herb and Fletcher leave and Frank steps into the space and greets the assistant. Then he tells Rachel that he will be in his office setting up his computer.

"I'm also going to be on the phone a lot today, so let's keep the noise down and limit the interruptions," he says.

"Sure Frank," Rachel says. "But you'll eat lunch with us, right?"

Frank looks mildly irritated.

"Of course I will," he grins sarcastically. "With me, you pretty much know what to expect."

Rachel flounders for words as the assistant looks away, and Frank heads to his office on the second floor. The doorbell rings several more times after that. Frank ignores the house as it becomes increasingly animated with Rachel's theatrical voice coach Leon, whom she has worked with occasionally in the past. The seamstress doing her costume fittings, and a few members of the chorus arrive later. One more ring brings a courier to the front door, who asks for Frank.

"I'll go call Frank," Rachel says. She walks upstairs and approaches Frank's office door, quietly. She knocks softly, and Frank opens quickly.

"Hi Rachel," Franks breathes, rubbing his face.

"There's a courier for you," Rachel points in the direction of the front door. Frank perks up and steps into the common area. As he moves past Rachel, he slides his hand around her waist to steer her downstairs. His touch sends a warm surge straight through to her belly button, pressing up against it, and Rachel realizes that it's the first half-way affectionate gesture he's made in two everlasting days!

"And Frank," Rachel pauses, catching his arm. "We'll be eating lunch, everybody will be eating lunch together soon. The cook is already here, and she's almost ready for us. So let's be cool, you know?"

Frank nods and smiles, saying he's perfectly fine, and he heads downstairs to sign for the delivery. As he tips the messenger, he doesn't notice the attention he's attracting. Leon, the seamstress and the members of the cast are all riveted. Frank's hair has grown out and is swept back neatly and casually, a change that Rachel suggested. He's also a little more muscular than he was after his shooting, because physical therapy for that arm kick-started a new workout. He says goodbye to the courier and walks into the entry hall, unaware that everyone is engrossed in him as he reads the return address on the envelope.

"So, is that more material for your next contact?" Rachel asks.

"Uh, yeah. It is, actually," he smiles civilly. He slides an arm around her shoulders, saying, "let's eat."

During the buffet style lunch, no one sits at the dining room table, preferring to cluster around Frank. He's sitting on the piano bench, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his plate. Rachel is right next to him.

Everyone has questions for him, which he answers patiently. But it's the question from Leslie, who plays a supporting character, and is Rachel's understudy, that begins to break the clouds.

"So how long have you been engaged?"

"A year," Frank smiles, remembering the proposal.

"How did you do it?"

"Well, we were camping in China ..."

"Camping? This fine lady right here?" Leon points at Rachel with his fork. "Rachel didn't you once fire an assistant because she messed up your manicure and left a hang nail unclipped?"

"What?" Frank laughs.

"It was a teeny, tiny one, too," Leon continues, squeezing two fingers together, underscoring Rachel's overreaction. "Somewhere on her thumb. Who was checking for that?"

"Leon, you know that girl was a disgrace," Rachel says. "That same week she destroyed one of my teapots and ... "

Frank shoots Rachel a momentary scowl, which dissolves into a quiet laugh.

"It's no wonder she was scared of you," Leon cackles.

"She was too dumb to be scared!" Rachel huffs, but realizes she has dug herself deeper.

"Yeah, before you came along, Frank, this queen of pop was running around screaming 'off with their heads' every time somebody got under her skin!"

The group laughs through Leon's interpretation of a Rachel tantrum. Frank finishes telling the story of how he proposed, which impresses them all.

"Well, when are you going to make an honest woman out this girl?" Leslie continues. "Are you going to set a date soon? When is the wedding?"

"Next June," Frank and Rachel say in unison. This encourages Rachel, and she slips her arm through his, smiling.

"Where is it going to be ?" Leslie asks.

Rachel sits up straight, realizing that she and Frank have a lot more work to do. They talk for another half hour, and the company seems to break the dry cold spell hanging over Rachel and Frank. After the long lunch wraps up, Frank and Rachel say goodbye to everyone.

Rachel shuts the front door after the last person leaves, and turns around, still holding the knob. Frank is standing in the entry hall, next a few feet away from a table, against the wall, that was now clear of everyone's purses, tote bags and Discmans. She rubs her hands together and walks into the entry hall looking at Frank, wondering if it's safe to venture another conversation.

"Well, that was fun, right? At least you got to see who I'll be working with," she says, swinging her arms along her sides and walking up to him. "What did you think?"

Frank shrugs, saying they seemed like the same show biz crowd to him, only a little smarter and more refined _seeming,_ because they're doing theatre.

"It's actually an operetta, but I know what you mean," Rachel looks up at him hopefully. She steps right up to Frank, so close that she can wrap her arms around his neck, which he does. She's relieved that Frank doesn't have any phone calls, briefings, target practice or any other excuse to walk away from her. Two days of being under the same roof as Frank, but with minimal to no contact, and just basic mechanical conversation had made Rachel uneasy. "It was great to see you smiling again, Frank. Was some of that for me?"

"Yeah, I was smiling at you," Frank pulls her tighter. The feel of Frank's arms around her waist and his warm breath rushing past her ears relieves and excites Rachel at the same time, so she begins searching his face for a kiss. "Rachel, I really love you, and whatever your ex tried to say the other day won't ever change that."

Rachel responds to that dose of compassion by peppering kisses all over Frank's face. He laughs lightly and reluctantly puts an inch of space between them.

"But Rachel, I need to know," he says. "Why did you do it? I thought we could tell each other anything. You trust me, right?"

"Of course I did, I mean I do," Rachel insists. "I thought I had enough time to tell you everything. I misjudged, I guess."

"It happens. But you can depend on me, Rachel. Never lose your way as far as that is concerned," Frank says, squeezing her arm. "So what did you talk about, exactly?"

"Fletcher, mainly. How he's grown," Rachel answers. "We talked about his sports, school, who his friends are and what a smart boy and good soul he is."

"Sounds like you talked for a long time," Frank breathes and rubs his forehead.

"We did," Rachel glances up at his face and stands on her toes in her sandals, not wanting Frank to retreat again. "But it was mostly business talk really. And I didn't stay long. Frank, I really don't want to talk about Terrell."

"Neither do I!" Frank begins kissing Rachel again, in a firm and hungry way that reminds him of how much he has missed her in the last two days. They keep kissing, as Frank walks her backward, toward the table. He unties the halter piece of her white dress and lets the straps drop against her chest. Rachel's eyes begin to focus on a stain glass window in their living room as Frank lightly kisses her collar-bone. Just as manages to pull one of her legs around his waist, the doorbell interrupts them.

"We're not expecting anyone!" Rachel murmurs as Frank's warm hand slides under her dress and toward her bottom.

But the doorbell clangs again, and again. Frank lets go, swearing and promising to get rid of whoever it is.

"No, I'll go," Rachel says. "I'm better at blow offs than you!"

Rachel hurriedly ties her dress back into place and lightly fixes her hair before checking at the door.

"What?" She opens the door to see Eldon standing on the steps holding a huge box of flowers.

Neither Rachel nor Frank can speak for a few minutes.

"Eldon, what's going on?" Rachel puts her hands on her hips. "I mean … this is nice, but quite unexpected."

Rachel reluctantly steps back inside, ushering Eldon in. Frank is surprised to see him, too, but shakes his hand all the same. Then Frank points to the box.

"What are those?"

"Flowers for the birthday girl," Eldon says, turning to Rachel and holding them out.

"It's not my birthday yet, Eldon, not for four days. July 30th," Rachel says. "But it's been a long time, so I don't blame you for forgetting."

"Oh, they're not from me!" Eldon says. "I'm standing proxy for Terrell. These are from him, but since he hasn't been able to get through to you and doesn't know where you're staying—which is really strange—he asked me to pick these up from the shop where he placed the order, and deliver them to you."

Rachel tenses up immediately, shaking her head.

"You drove all the way from New Jersey …"

"I _live_ in New Jersey, but I have a clinic inside Columbia Presbyterian, Rachel," he says. "That's where I practice, and where I'm coming from now. I had to leave early, so I thought I would do this for Terrell."

Frank breathes heavily and says he needs to do some reading upstairs.

"No Frank!" Rachel exclaims, running to hold his arm. He turns and places his hand on hers, warmly. "Just let me know when the coast is clear. My work day is still going."

"The coast is clear _now_, Frank. Just give me a few more minutes …" she whispers.

Frank stands resolute, but he's not bitter or angry. He squeezes Rachel's hand and tells her that he'll check on her in a half hour.

Moments later, Eldon is sitting at Rachel's kitchen table, swallowing from a tall glass of iced tea.

"It's getting hot out again. Thanks for this, Rachel," he says, setting the glass down.

"You're welcome," she says, arranging the flowers in a vase. Eldon looks at them and says Terrell made the right call. "They manage to contrast nicely with your eyes. See, he still remembers you."

"Eldon, please," Rachel gets flustered and touches her hair. "Someone has got to tell Terrell to back down, and I think it should be you. He shouldn't have done this. At my home, and in front of my fiancé?"

"Look, I'm not in the middle of this!" Eldon holds up his hands. "I just did Terrell a favor because he's become desperate to try and fix things with his family."

"Please listen to yourself!" Rachel grabs the vase and walks it to a deep window sill in the butler's pantry. "We're not his family anymore. He walked away! We're not toys that he can play with and throw away, and we'll be there when he wants to pick us up again."

"Well, OK. It's your choice," he says. "I just think it's a shame that a guy who's trying to make things right can't even get a little reciprocation from the mother of his child. Whom he wants to see and have a relationship with."

Rachel and Eldon were about to debate this point when Frank walks into the kitchen. He brings a coffee mug to the sink and says 'hey' to the both of them.

"I'll do that, Frank," Rachel says, picking up a sponge to wash the mug. If only the house were messy, she could use that as an excuse to move Eldon out more quickly, so she could tidy up, she thinks. But everything is in order, forcing her to deal with an unpleasant subject. Or so she had dreaded until Frank spoke.

"Thanks, Rachel," Frank leaves the mug in the sink and turns to smile mildly at Eldon.

"Eldon, this is a really bad time," Frank says. "Rachel's assistant is due back in 10 minutes, Rachel has an interview with a newspaper after that, and by then it will be around 4:30 and my father will be back with Fletcher. This is really going to have to wait. I'm sorry."

Eldon nods and checks his watch.

"I need to be getting home myself," he says. "It might be the mid-afternoon for you folks, but I've already had a long day."

After a few more moments, Frank shuts the door after Eldon. He walks back into the house, brushing past Rachel more roughly than he intended, and he walks straight to the butler's pantry. Rachel watches anxiously as Frank opens a back window, grabs the vase of flowers, and dumps everything out onto the back patio, vase and all. He bangs the window shut.

"Frank, I swear I don't know how this happened!" Rachel says. "I didn't tell Terrell anything!"

"I don't know how it happened, either, Rachel" Frank huffs, eyeing his fiancé from her throat to her ankle. He pants, twisting a fist into an open hand, and paces. "But when I find out, I'm going to put a stop to it."

**Late that evening, Rachel watches Frank** brush his teeth before bed, while explaining that she'll be out of the house early to do an in-studio interview at a radio station. She hopes that his mood, which had swung in a positive direction after Herb and Fletcher returned from their outing, would hold.

"A car is coming for me at 6:45 am, to take me to the radio station," she says, drumming her fingers on the wall, where she's been leaning. Frank nods and says he'll look out for Fletcher early in the morning. They start discussing the agenda for tomorrow until Rachel walks up to Frank and grins sweetly, running a finger down the front of his T-shirt. He pulls her in for a warm hug, and they kiss passionately for a few minutes.

He looked so handsome, but what made Rachel reach up to hold him tighter was that he was being so understanding about the last few days. If she could somehow get Terrell and all his little helpers to back down, she and Frank could proceed with the wedding plans and hopefully leave him in her past.

"You know, Frank," Rachel says, when they pull away for a minute. "We didn't really make up earlier today. Wanna try again? We've had better makeup sex than that."

"Yeah, well, we've certainly had more spectacular fights, too," Frank laughs and picks Rachel up, carrying her to their bedroom where he sets her down carefully. They continue kissing, while Frank slides his hands under Rachel's satin camisole and lifts it over her head. But after a few more moments, Rachel thinks she hears a small voice calling. Frank says he doesn't hear anything, continuing to dot his lips along her throat. Then Fletcher makes a strong, sharp call a second time.

"That was definitely him," Rachel says, flipping Frank off of her. Frank sighs as Rachel scrambles for her clothes and a robe. She rushes out into the hallway and meets Fletcher, who is holding his stomach and looking pale. She's up with him for the next two hours, as he doubles over with aches, gets sick in his bathroom, and she scrambles to the kitchen to brew a cup of fresh ginger tea for him to drink. After she gets him settled again, she stays right next to him, humming and rubbing his head until he is fast asleep.

Several hours later, Frank is shaking Rachel. She turns to look at him, and wearily asks about the time.

"It's almost 6 in the morning, Rachel," Frank says. "Come one, I'll help you get up."

Frank looks so kind, warm and strong! Pity that they don't have time to connect before she has to rush out of the house. A quick kiss on the lips is all they have time for as she hurriedly gets into her car and Frank hands her a travel mug of coffee. That pretty much defines the next few days. Interviews, rehearsals and family responsibilities rob Rachel and Frank of any meaningful time alone.

**On the sixth day, Rachel is near despair.** She's being pulled in several directions at once, and just wishes things would slow down for a day so that she and Frank can talk, really talk, and figure out how to deal with the situation.

That evening, after rehearsals, a conference call with Bill and her publicist, schmoozing with a producer at a lunch that her publicist set up, and a photo shoot, Rachel is ready for bed. She can barely form coherent sentences after she gets home, much less get into any kind of discussion with Frank about her complicated relationship with Terrell.

During dinner, Rachel holds herself together just well enough to interact politely, but she can't seem to focus on anything else.

"There's just a couple more things, Rachel, before we all turn in," Frank says. "I'll be right back."

What could it possibly be Rachel wonders, leaning her hands on her face as Frank leaves the dining room. When he comes back, he's … singing. Rachel looks up, with her hands open in front of her face as Frank sings her "Happy Birthday," and walks a cake into the room. There are three candles on it, one for each decade, and he sets it down right in front of her.

"Frank, you're a … a baritone!"

"Uhhh, just barely," he says.

"No, I love it," Rachel reaches up to hold his face and kiss him. "Thanks Fletcher, Herb." Rachel hugs them all, and they gesture for her to make a wish. She closes her eyes and smiles after a moment, then blows them out. Frank hands her a knife and winks as she makes the first cut, which makes her throat go dry and her stomach flip.

Herb pulls a stack of plates off of a nearby counter and hands them to Fletcher, who is cutting slices out.

"What was the other thing, Frank?"

"Well, I spoke to Christiana a couple of days ago," Frank says, licking icing off his thumb. "I hope you don't mind. I wanted to give you another nudge ..."

"A push," Rachel says.

"That too, a push, on the wedding," Frank laughs. "Well, she says we can have it on the farm. On that clearing near the northwest corner. It's removed from everything and we can make it even more private … if you agree."

Rachel grabs Frank again and hugs him tighter. A major wedding detailed settled?

"Of course I agree," Rachel says. "This takes a huge load off of my mind! Thank you, Frank."

Rachel kisses Frank sweetly, until she starts making silly slurping and pecking noises to Fletcher's consternation. He sends them away, and they go readily. The last thing Frank and Rachel do before turning in that evening is open his gift to her.

"There's more?" Rachel says, having perked up by that point. "I can hardly stand it!"

"Well, I need you to hang in there a little longer for this one," Frank says. He pushes a La Perla shopping bag in her direction, and she pulls out a sheer, baby doll slip. Rachel holds it up against her chest and holds a leg out flirtatiously.

"How many of these did you imagine me wearing before you picked this one, Frank?"

"I stopped counting at around 20," He gestured toward the bathroom. "Let's see you in it."

Rachel comes back from the bathroom a few minutes later with most of her hair pinned up, with a few tousled locks cascading down her shoulders, and wearing Frank's gift.

"You look beautiful, Rachel," Frank says, patting the bed next to him. But Rachel shakes her head no.

"Come on over!" he pulls the sheets down to make room. Still Rachel gestures no.

"I made the move last time," she says, before she can really say anything else, Frank is off the bed and is pulling Rachel close for a thorough kiss. He slows down just long enough to make sure he can set her gently on the bed, which he does. But then he gets straight to the business of making up for lost time.

* * *

_In the next installment ..._  
_Rachel makes her theater debut, as Frank makes his strongest case yet to Rachel for why Terrell should be kept at bay. The wedding planning bug bites Rachel, as the unofficial family prepares for Frank to go overseas. _


	6. The Warning

_Hello Franchel shippers/readers. It's been a while since we've checked in on these two, and it's been mainly due to a hectic schedule in real life. In the last installment, Frank and Rachel had trouble connecting due to squabbles and their hectic schedules. Then they finally made time for reach other. This time, Frank learns to share his fiance with the world, while they begin planning the wedding._

* * *

Frank was sleeping so soundly the next morning, he never felt that something warm and soft was weighing down on his hips. When he finally drags his eyes open he sees Rachel, through blurry vision at first, lying on top of him covered in their sheets, with one leg exposed.

"Morning, Loverboy," she smiles widely. "You're up early."

He wags his head from side to side, and stretches under his fiance. The previous night, make-up lovemaking unfolded in two phases: An ardent, hungry episode up against Rachel's vanity near the window, then on the floor with Rachel as the aggressor. Frank hadn't realized how terribly he missed Rachel during those previous six days, until he finally pulled her up to lay on his chest, kissing her softly while apologizing for being so cold. Now his fiance's small, elegant eyes shimmered with mischief.

"How long have you been watching me sleep?"

"Not that long," Rachel shrugs. "I was on my way back to bed after washing my face when I got a little curious and picked up the sheet. There he was, Mini Frank -"

"Rachel, I'm barely awake. You have to wait," Frank sighs, trying to bury his head further into the pillow. "We'll talk ... we'll talk about this in 30 minutes."

"Fletcher might be awake by then," she whispered, squeezing her hips around him. "What if he disturbs us?"

"Then he can go downstairs and get cereal and watch cartoons," Frank grumbles. "I need to sleep, Rachel. Can you handle that?"

"I guess," Rachel leans her head on her hand and watches Frank doze. After a couple of minutes, she starts to blow on his face gently. She persists with the air kisses even as he flinches and tries to dodge them.

"OK, you win," Frank says, wrapping one arm around her and rubbing his eyes. "But at some point you're going to have to let a guy rest."

"Oh, here wait," Rachel says, and pops a mint into his mouth. "And I promise no biting this time." Then she pulls the sheets over their heads and sighs and giggles.

Months ago, before Rachel turned 30, Frank had insisted on celebrating her actual birthday privately at home. Today, Rachel would share her birthday with the world. Thankfully, Rachel thinks as she pulls on his elbow before they head downstairs for breakfast, they had made up before the party. The guest list had swelled from 100 to 250, and moved from the main ballroom at The Metropolitan Club to a movie producer's estate in the Hamptons. That producer, Charles Ayres, was courting Rachel to play another lead in a movie and he wanted her to meet the director and studio boss for the project.

"Frank, don't forget about tonight's party OK?"

"Who's that with, again?"

"Charkes Ayres. He wants me to do that romantic comedy," Rachel says.

Frank says he remembers that she mentioned it a few weeks ago. If it stayed on schedule, part of it would be filmed in New Orleans, beginning after her Broadway run. And she would record almost a full soundtrack album for it, too.

"OK. I'll be ready," Frank says, kissing her lightly.

Rachel leans against the bedroom door wondering how to tell Frank about Sy. She decides that the quick approach is best.

"Frank, I just want to give you some warning about another dinner guest," Rachel says. Frank leans close to Rachel and slides his hands around her waist, asking who it is.

"It's Sy. My publicist from L.A.," Rachel says, pulling Frank closer. "You remember-"

"I thought you were putting him on leave," Frank shakes his head.  
Frank remembered Sy all too well. How he constantly undercut Frank's authority, tried to have him fired, and practically smeared him in the press after it became clear that Rachel had chosen a side. He pulled away from Rachel, incredulously.

"That would be fine if my schedule was merely crazy," Rachel says, reaching out to catch Frank's hand. "But Frank, the new publicist, Julia Grant, she's getting swamped. I need someone to handle ... personal press relations separately from professional ones. Sy is going to keep on handling the ... professional side for now."

"Rachel, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"No, no, baby. Of course not," Rachel trots up to Frank and puts her arms around his waist. "But he's up on all kinds of new things. Using email and the Internet to handle things. He won't even be in the house, I promise. We'll always meet at the business center in his hotel or a restaurant somewhere."

"I still don't like him around, Rachel," Frank implores. "Please tell me you're going to get rid of him eventually."

"Look, I understand how you feel, but after you left for London, the press became so much more aggressive than usual," Rachel says. "They seem to think it's safe to follow me and Fletcher around when you're overseas."

"And who do you think gave them that impression?"

Rachel squeezes Frank closer, and looks into his eyes, hoping to avert a squabble.

"Frank, please," Rachel mumbles into his chest. "Sy may be an opportunist, but he knows his business. He's good at what he does, and knows who signs his checks. I know he'll respect your boundaries this time. Just trust me. I need the help, and he's one of the smartest in the business."

Because Rachel is looking up at him hopefully, Frank relents. No other woman, except maybe Hannah, who fell out of love with him years ago, could get concessions out of him. Even though Rachel's life frequently took on a frenetic pace, bringing in all kinds of characters he would never approve of in his own life, he tolerates them for her sake. She's a loving and responsible mother, her only questionable slip in his old-fashioned mind was bringing a boyfriend to live in the house. That he was the boyfriend in question mitigated his outlook on it. At least they have a date and venue set for the wedding; at least their lives were coming together.

"OK, Rachel. If you promise to keep him at a reasonable distance, then I'll go along with it," Frank says. Rachel stands on her toes and rapidly kisses Frank's face. He laughs lightly and kisses her back, then remembers something that he meant to tell her.

"I spoke to Tony yesterday," he says, breathing a little easier. "He says he'll be here a couple of days before I go. At least I know someone with your best interest at heart is gonna be here while I'm gone."

The house falls back into its normal rhythm again. Breakfast together, followed by Rachel's staff piling into the house, a conference call with Bill back in California, and lunch with a producer or director. This time Rachel's lunch guests are her new publicist Julia Grant, the director of the show, David Rigby, and her executive assistant, Eva. They are discussing previews for Porgy and Bess, the period when critics get an early peek at her performance and write their reviews.

"Things are really ramping up, getting close, huh?" Rachel says, reaching for her white wine spritzer.

"They are, but don't worry," Julia says. "You'll blow them away, I'm sure. Leon says he's never had such a technically sound, dedicated student. If we could find out where they breed singers like Rachel Marron, we could populate Broadway and Hollywood with more talent!"

Rachel shrugs as the waiter slides a slim check portfolio near David's elbow. She reaches over to snatch it away.

"Don't worry about it. I've got it this time," she says, reaching behind her for her purse. "Besides, I'm meeting my wedding planner here right after this."

The table starts buzzing afresh, as Rachel explains that they've picked a date and venue. When she mentions the farm, everyone, including her assistant, freezes.

"But Rachel, that doesn't sound big enough," Julia frowns slightly. "It sounds fine if you're just going to have family, but what about all of your friends?"

"Well Frank isn't into the idea of an extravagant wedding," Rachel answers, straightening up and making a sweeping gesture with her hands. She omits a key point, that keeping on Frank's good side was really important to her these days, and that she hadn't opened another bridal magazine since he made his preference for an outdoorsy wedding in the country clear.

Julia persisted, though. Even as Rachel checked her watch and David shut his portfolio.

"Well, you're joining Abyssinian Baptist, for while you're living in New York,"Julia says. "It's a great assembly; terrific connections and a beautiful space. I think a cathedral wedding is much more your speed."

By now Rachel's assistant was nodding her head.

"Yeah a figure like yours was made to carry off a scrumptious designer gown, and a big designer gown would be out of place on a farm," Eva shrugs, then adds, "save the farm for when you renew your vows 10 years from now."

Julia and Eva launched into a passionate case for Abyssinian Baptist Church. Her cousin Eldon had close friends on the presbytery and she did her first concert there, although technically she wasn't a headliner.

"Please think about it," Julia says, just as Rachel's wedding planning assistant walk up to the table. "Oh, here she is. She'll agree with us."

"About what?" The planner, Amy sits down just as David gets up to leave, mumbling something about leaving women to their business.

Julia and Eva pounce, laying out all the reasons for why Rachel should get married in a cathedral, instead of on a family farm. Rachel listens bemused, trying to imagine Frank inside of the church.

"Ladies, Amy and I have a lot to figure out," Rachel says, holding up her hand. "Would you mind if we talked a little later?" The two women excuse themselves giving Rachel kisses on each cheek. Rachel gives Eva last-minute instructions for the birthday party planner and the hair dresser. After they leave, Rachel and Amy begin to tackle the guest list. Rather, it tackles them. After they list family, close friends and industry contacts, plus spouses and children, they have close to 400 names.

"Rachel, weren't you and Frank supposed to meet with the senior pastor today anyway, to enroll as members?" Amy says. Rachel nods, and squirms a little seeing where this is going.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact we were," Rachel says.

"Well, that's good," Amy says. "Because after he looks this guest list and the church, I think he'll start to see things more clearly."

Rachel orders lunch for Amy, and has an iced tea for herself. She doesn't exactly like the idea of Frank feeling ambushed by a bunch of women gone wedding planning crazy, but she admits to herself that Frank would look especially handsome in a tuxedo with sunlight filtering down on him. Few people from her world understood the connection between her and Frank. A couple of her bolder, snarkier friends had come out and said, "So you're sleeping with the help? Who's next, the pool guy?" Although Rachel hadn't been impressed with their marriages, she held back from mentioning the separate sleeping arrangements and affairs that they complained to her about. And although she had been set up on plenty of dates with major executives, politicians and lower royalty, had yet to meet a man who was the total package like Frank. Plus, he was his own man, and had accumulated a respectable fortune protecting the people in her circles. The more she thought about Frank's intelligence, good sense, and growing wit, the less people's harsh judgements on their relationship mattered.

This reverie ended as they pulled up to the church. Rachel took in the beautiful polished wood and murals in the narthex as they waited for the receptionist to walk them to the pastor's office. Frank was already there, and after he kissed Rachel he glanced at Amy, questioningly.

"I invited her along, Frank," Rachel said. "We had a couple of extra things to discuss." Rachel greets the pastor and Frank pulls out a chair for her. Pleasantries don't take very long, and they launch into the history of the church, membership courses, and pre-wedding counseling that Frank and Rachel have to take. After that session, the pastor drums his hands on his desk.

"So, I understand that the wedding will be on a farm," he says. "Your grandparents' place, Rachel?" Frank smiles and looks at Rachel, while Amy clears her throat loudly.

"Well, that's one possibility," Rachel says, glancing at Frank. An awkward moment passes as Frank frowns, sighs and leans back in his chair. Then the pastor offers them a quick tour. While Frank and the pastor walk ahead of Rachel and her wedding planner, he glances back a few times and catches Amy scribbling notes and taking photos.

"A beautiful nave. Perfectly balanced. Your train would be stunning here," Amy says. Rachel tries to get her to be quieter and more discreet, but she keeps right on planning. Once they get to the top of the aisle, Frank and the pastor stop to look around, while Amy raises her hand.

"Is there a ready room? Like where the choir puts on their robes, or ... where other people get ready for ... things?" She says, avoiding Frank's glare.

"Well, it's past the narthex, if you go left out of the main sanctuary. We call it the living room, and it's labeled on the door," the pastor says.

Amy firmly takes Rachel by the elbow and spins her around. As they walk toward the back of the church, Rachel takes a quick look back at Frank. He looks handsome, but mildly irritated as she leaves him by the altar.

A couple of hours later, Frank and Rachel are slinging garment bags over their arms to load in the car. They'll head out to East Hampton and get dressed there for Rachel's party.

"All this for a birthday that's a day late!" Frank says. "But before we go, I need to show you something." Frank takes Rachel by the hand and leads her to his office. This makes her animated.

"Are we playing 'boss and secretary? Let me get my spiky Mary Janes on!"

"No!" Frank says sharply, looking her up and down. "Anyway we don't have time for all that. I need to show you Terrell's rap sheet. This won't take long. I'll give you the overview, and then you can take a more detailed look on your own."

Frank closes the door behind them and opens a binder on his desk. It has color coded tabs for every aspect of his life.

"Rap sheet?" Rachel watches Frank flip through the different sections. "How bad is it?"

"Mainly petty grifter stuff," Frank says. "It looks like he has the habit of running up huge bills with vendors, service providers, and then not paying. And then there's this ..." Frank moves the binder toward Rachel, pointing out the tab marked "kids."

"He has two other kids, Rachel," Frank says. "Both are boys, younger than Fletcher. And it looks like the mothers are fed up with him not supporting them."

"That's ... something else," Rachel shakes her head as she brings the binder onto her lap. "I can't believe it. He never said anything about his other kids."

Frank watches Rachel page through the binder for a few minutes, and feels a little bad for bringing her such bad news.

"So now, you see why I think we ought to keep our distance from that guy," Frank says. "This isn't going to end well, Rachel."

Rachel nods and closes the binder, saying she'll read more of it later.

"Let's go. I could use some birthday cake."

* * *

_In the next installment: Frank and Rachel party it up in the Hamptons; Herb returns home; Rachel confronts Terrell about the records in the binder and Rachel's and Frank's opposite views of the perfect wedding come to a head._


	7. The Birthday Bash

_The story continues, readers. Thanks for all your comments so far. Some of them are quite funny and make me chuckle on those scant times when I'm sitting by myself in a quiet space sipping tea. Keep them coming! In the last piece, the wedding planning got underway while Frank admonished Rachel about Terrell. Did she listen? Read on to find out._

* * *

**July 21, 1993**  
**East Hampton**

Rachel Marron is sitting at the vanity of a large bright bathroom and doing the final blending on her eye shadow when she stops to glance up at Frank. He's buttoning his cuffs and looks exceptionally handsome in a wheat-colored suit, with a few buttons opened on his baby blue shirt.

"Well, look at you," Rachel turns around in her chair and whistles at Frank. "You didn't say anything about outdressing the birthday girl."

Frank smiles at Rachel and licks his lower lip slightly, looking her up and down.

"You're not so bad yourself," Frank nods.

She's stunning, he thinks, sitting there crossed-legged in a mini red dress with a plunging backline. Then his mind flashes with two more images: The first is of him showing her off as the crown jewel of his life and the belle of the ball. The next is of him clocking some random guy for getting too close to her. Frank would have been content taking Rachel, Fletcher and Herb to a movie, maybe a boat ride around the harbor, but Julia thought a 30th birthday bash was "more fitting" for a celebrity of her stature. And of course a big part of Rachel enjoyed the festivities and being the center of attention. Looking the way that she did-more like demigod than anyone he had previously dated-he knew all eyes would be on her. This would be their first appearance, and their first red carpet event as a couple since they went public with their engagement, and here it was her birthday party, not even an industry or charity event. He even had to insist on the day after her birthday to avoid intruding on their lives. Would he always have to share his fiance, then wife, then mother of his kids?

"Frank? Earth to Frank," Rachel calls softly. She walks over to him and slides her hand into his, in a ballroom dance position. "Are you ready for it all?"

"I had better be ready, because the red carpet starts shortly, doesn't it?"

Rachel nods and smiles at Frank. She lays her head on his shoulder and thinks she could slow dance with him all night, just like the first time. But the festivities await them, and her publicist and party planner both come knocking, interrupting their quiet time.

"Rachel! Red carpet starts in 20 minutes," Julia calls from the other side of the door. Rachel looks up at Frank and smiles before peeling herself slowly out of his cozy embrace.

"Well, it's show time," she sighs. "Let's go." Frank spins her around and holds her from behind, kissing the back of her neck.

Frank and Rachel walk downstairs, through the contemporary, airy house. Rachel's staff is buzzing with last-minute preparations as Charles Ayres, her producer friend and his wife, greet them on the patio that leads to the back yard. Sy is chatting with them.

"What a knockout! Frank I hope you don't mind this once," He pulls Rachel in for a kiss on the cheek and spins her around. Frank minds, slightly, and remembers his brief vision of hitting a guy for getting too close to Rachel. But he promises not to get violent at her party.

Before Sy can say another word, Rachel scurries back to Frank, grabs his elbow and struts off.

The party becomes a mix of impromptu concert, where musical legends in practically all genres and disciplines jam for hours, and part family gathering as Christiana and Eldon show up, blending among—and sometimes avoiding—Rachel's industry friends. She ends up talking Frank into dancing, which he turns out to be pretty good at once he stops claiming that he hates it so much.

Rachel keeps an earlier promise not to put Christiana on the spot by asking her to sing, and she handles the crowd like a child methodically working her way through her toy room. Every area of her friend's property bubbles with rowdy conversation until she comes along to play and turn up the volume even more. In one corner, a couple of her friends from a TV Christmas special she did are leading a game of quarters. Rachel stops by and aces it, not getting the slightest bit drunk. The same cannot be said for one of her women guests. As Frank is standing a ways off from them opening a champagne bottle, she sips from her glass slowly, watching him. Then she asks Rachel if Frank makes love the way he's opening the champagne.

"And you can tell by the way h-h-he moves he can be aminal!" She covers her mouth. "But he ain't even drinking, though! What's he like when he loses control?"

"You will never find out!"

Several of the guys are very physically flirty with Rachel, joking with Frank that they hope he's ready to handle her as his wife. Rachel waves them off, even the guy who presents her with a stunning emerald and diamond necklace.

"Will you marry me now?" the small group around them gasps as Rachel cracks open the velvet box and she covers her mouth.

"Not on your life!" she says, fastening it on. "You totally wasted that royalty check. What did I tell you about pursuing pop singers?"

She receives other extravagant gifts that night. One promoter who made $13 million from her appearance in a concert series gives her a month at his house in Switzerland. The producer on Queen of the Night gives her the keys to an exotic car. At that point, Rachel starts to get bored and tired. It comes on suddenly, and unexplainably. But she finds herself feeling stuck. Charles takes her by the hand and creates an impromptu meeting with the director of his new film. They end up talking for an hour, with interruptions from well wishers. One welcome interruption comes from Christiana, who is carrying a small flat box and pulls Rachel into the quietness of the changing room she and Frank had used upstairs.

"Are you having a good time?" Christiana sits on a chair across from Rachel.

"Pretty good," Rachel says. "You guys are saving this place from being a complete circus. But if you sang with me …"

"No," Christiana smiles sweetly. Rachel pretends to scowl, and then Christiana hands her the box. "My daughter is completely enamored with her glamorous auntie—and her handsome uncle to be—and insisted on making this for you."

When Rachel opens the small paper box and pushes the tissue away, her heart melts. It's a bracelet made of green and pink clay polymer beads, with the initials R and F stamped on two of them. Rachel wiggles her hand through the elastic binding and turns it around on her wrist.

"She made this, that precious girl?" Rachel asks, looking up. "She's so talented and thoughtful. I'll write her a note and tell her I love this best of all."

Christiana explains that her daughter ordered the beads, but came up with the design and strung it together herself. The cousins stand up and linger in a warm hug, as Rachel begins to think about the virtues of a family-only farm wedding. They pull away, and Christiana asks Rachel if she has decided to use the farm. Rachel looks down and shrugs.

"I'm confused, actually, Christiana," she says. "I can see beauty in both a cathedral wedding and one on a farm. But Frank wants something simple."

"You haven't said what you want, though," Christiana says, holding her hands in front of her. "Didn't you always dream of a big church and bells and stuff when we were all little and playing wedding? You made me and Nikki be the bridesmaids, carrying your 30-foot train." Christiana imitates carrying precious cloth around the room, which cracks Rachel up. Then Christiana composes herself.

"If that little girl is still part of the big, grand Rachel Farmer—to be—then tell Frank what you want," Christiana says. "You don't have to lose yourself totally just because you've grown and changed."

Rachel nods, and promises to let Christiana know soon, so that she and her family can plan accordingly. Then she snaps to attention.

"What time is it?"

"A quarter past midnight," Christiana says. "We actually have to get going. We asked the car that you offered us to pick us up in 15 minutes."

"Please remind Eldon about the 'man's fishing party' in a couple of days," Rachel jokes. "I just want them to bring my son back alive."

Christiana and Eldon's party leave shortly in their SUVs, and as far as Rachel is concerned, the party becomes hollow after that. She smiles, laughs and runs on autopilot for another two hours, and then she tells Charles that she wants to wind the party down. The carving station, sushi bar and dessert tables come down. The bar tender gives a last call, as Frank happens to walk up.

"I'll have a scotch neat," Frank says. As he turns around to wait for his drink, Sy walks up. The latter had avoided Frank the whole night, but with the crowd beginning to thin out, there was nowhere left to run. Frank merely nodded at Sy, who waved subtly.

"Some party, right, Frank?" Sy says as Frank takes his drink. "But this is the sort of thing you have to expect from a woman like Rachel. She's on fire right now, and doesn't show the slightest hint of slowing down."

Frank nods, taking a swig from his glass.

"But I have to congratulate you, Frank," Sy continues. "Not a lot of guys would have stayed composed while other males were all over his bride to be. I suppose the night's proceedings call for a drink that harder than OJ."

"Nobody was all over her, Sy," Frank looks inside his glass.

"Oh, I beg to differ, especially the one who gave Rachel all that expensive jewelry," Sy sips his drink. "If it were my fiancé, looking that smoking hot and being pursued by …"

"What kind of thing is that to say about your own boss?" Frank slams the glass down on the bar and points a finger in Sy's face.

"Don't start this Barbarian routine with me, Frank …"

"What's going on?" Rachel had approached quietly and was standing near them. "We're not having any problems, are we?" Rachel steps up to them and slides her arm through Frank's. She says something softly to only Frank, who pulls his arm away, turns around and wraps the other arm around her waist, guiding her away from Sy. Rachel only takes one look back as they walk away. No matter how much she tries, she can't get Frank to tell her what Sy had said.

Hours later, back in Manhattan, Rachel is unclasping the necklace and asks for Frank's help. He quietly undoes it and hands it to her, watching her place it back in its velvet box, and snapping it shut.

"Well, that was interesting," she says, taking a hairbrush to her wavy hair. "It was fun showing you off in front of everybody. What did you think?"

"I think it went almost the way I imagined," he says, dropping onto the seat next to her and kissing her neck. "I just had a more elaborate fantasy about clocking Sy and throwing him into the pool."

"Frank," Rachel groans and drops her head backward.

"OK, maybe just punching him out," he adds, rubbing the back of her neck, and pulling her closer. "But at least he didn't commit any … major breaches this time around. At least in terms of your safety. I was beginning to think that guy would never learn."

"I had a talk with him earlier, Frank," Rachel says, putting her arms on his shoulders. "I know he can be a real thorn in your side sometimes, but I think he'll pull back for my sake. At least I hope. Thanks for keeping a cool head."

"Well, you deserve it," he mumbles into her neck, smiling at their reflection. He decides against telling Rachel about Sy's remarks earlier, thinking he'll figure out another way to dismantle him. Rachel finishes her hair and stands up, pulling Frank up by the hand. They walk over to the bed and slip in, but before Frank can turn off the lamp on her side of the bed, throwing the room into darkness, Rachel is already asleep.

Two days later, Rachel and Christiana are leading her assistant, Amy and Julia around Pelham Farm. Amy is sulkily making notes on her clipboard, as Julia scornfully tries to navigate the area in heels, complaining about how early they had to get up to come out to New Jersey, only to get their clothes dirty.

"So are you sure people are going to drive all the way out here?" Amy peeps over her the rim of her sunglasses at Rachel. Rachel's assistant is shaking her head at them.

"They might," Rachel says. "People fly all over the world to go to an A-lister's wedding. Anyway, we're just checking out the possibilities."

"How are we supposed to conceal the tractors and rows of lettuce and corn and all that stuff?"

"Amy, I need you to keep an open mind about this, for my fiance's sake, OK?" Then she turns to Julia and scowls. "We had to come early because it fit my cousin's schedule to take off from work to show us around. And Julia, I told you to wear sensible shoes. What's gotten into you two?"

Rachel's assistant folds her arms over her chest and shakes her head at the two other women, chiding them for "being such spoiled city girls who can't handle a walk in the country."

Julia is about to protest when two members of the staff comes out with a trays loaded with glasses of lemonade and light finger food. They set them on a round table under the shade of a large oak tree.

"Oh, thank God!" Julia makes her way to the table. Within minutes the women are all sitting down and chatting about arranging chairs, setting up archways, tents and trellises, and building a plank as an aisle for Rachel to walk on as she moves toward Frank and the minister. Christiana nods politely at all of it, sliding her cousin a glance every now and then, wondering if she should remind Rachel that she's describing Frank's vision for the wedding and not her own.

Meanwhile, a mid-sized private boat is anchored miles off the coast of New Jersey. It belongs to one of Frank's contacts from the Secret Service's New York bureau, who hosted Frank, Herb, Fletcher, Eldon and Rachel's uncle for the morning. Frank is in a much lighter mood, joking and smiling as he teaches Fletcher how to cast, and Herb pulls in the first catch of the morning.

"Looks like Rachel isn't the only one with an entourage, Frank," Cal joked as he sipped an iced water.

"Please, don't even mention that word," Frank shakes his head. "What you see here is the cream of the crop, with Tony and Bill. Everyone else …"

"They don't impress you, huh? Still, after all this time?" Cal squints.

"Celebrities never have, and they never will," Frank says. "Rachel is the exception, because, she's kind, a good mother. She's ambitious, though, which introduces the projects, the people and the blind spots who don't impress me."

"That's bound to happen though, when you have a rich and famous celebrity like her." Cal says. "But what's this about her agreeing to get married on a farm? Is that where you're going to have the ceremony?"

"I guess, and I would hope so," Frank says. Rachel is out there with her gang of women right now probably thinking up all these ideas."

"I guess you're gonna hear all about it," Cal laughs.

"Yeah. And soon!" Frank says.

"I got one!" Fletcher screams. "Frank! Frank!"

Amy had booked an appointment with a dress designer whose studio was on the way back to New York. Rachel drives her Range Rover and leads another car, with her assistant and Christiana, into an upscale town. As Amy reads the directions, Rachel steers the car down a long street lined with large oak trees, then eventually turns up a long swerving gravel driveway. The women pile out and admire a large Victorian mansion, as Amy leads them up the walk and to the front porch.

"You are going to love Eva," Amy says. "She's a genius with fabrics and is impossible to book, by the way. She's going to love sewing for your figure."

When a young woman opens the door, Amy introduces herself and the rest of the party. They walk inside, stepping into a contradiction of the historically preserved exterior. All the moldings, flooring and windows have been updated and modernized. Large, airy spaces replace nooks and crannies, and there are no figurines resting on top of lace doilies.

When the young woman leads them to Eva's office, the designer stands up and greets Amy with a hug, rubbing her back. They make small talk, then sit down to lemonades and espressos.

"Well, who have you brought me this time, Amy?"

The women giggle, since Rachel's engagement has been a fixture of gossip magazine coverage for months. Then Eva opens a leather bound note book and starts asking Rachel about herself, the wedding date and where she's going to get married.

"Where?"

"Yes. Are you going to walk down the aisle of a church? On a beach? In the dessert? Stand under a chuppah …"

"We're not Jewish, so no," Rachel laughs. "It's either going to be on a farm or in a cathedral."

Eva tilts her head slightly and makes a note, asking if Rachel has pictures of either the farm or the church.

"I have pictures of the cathedral right here!" Amy whips a few glossy photos out of a folder and hands them to Eva. "But not the farm."

Christiana shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Eva nods and says the space is beautiful, then scans Rachel, sitting cross-legged in a blue linen tube-top jumper, with gold strappy sandals.

"You know ultimately, I think you could carry off any dress, anywhere," Eva says. "I could do something chic, manageable and understated for the farm, or a dramatic show-stopper for the cathedral. It's up to you, really, and we still have time for you to decide on what you really want."

Christiana nods firmly, and smiles at Rachel.

"So what do you think, Rachel?" Eva asks.

"Well, I … think both are beautiful, really," she begins. "But I've always liked the acoustics in that church. I'm a musical person, at heart, and I love the sounds that you can make in there."

"I knew it!" Amy says, sitting back with her espresso.

"So is that where you're going to have the ceremony?"

"I still don't know," Rachel sits back. "I still have to work things out with Frank. He wants the farm, and I want the cathedral."

Eva nods and stands up, inviting Rachel to what she calls the dressing room, where she puts on several sample gowns. After a couple of tries she comes to a tea-length strapless dress with a lace overlay. Amy looks aghast, while Christiana says it has possibilities. The best is a high-collared fitted gown with tiered strands of crystals and a seven-foot train. Rachel tries and fails to suppress a smile, and turns around to see herself from several angles.

"Now this is something," Rachel says directly to Christiana, who has already stood up and is examining the crystals.

"You look amazing," Christiana says. "This one is definitely a contender. Not sure about the collar, though. I think you should show off your slender neck. What do you think …"

Amy begins to speak up, while Christiana completes her question …

"Eva? And Rachel. I'm asking the designer and the customer," Christiana says.

"If you want, we can make some changes," Eva says. "I'll develop some sketches for you and we can meet again in a few weeks?"

Rachel nods and says that sounds terrific.

After the appointment, Rachel makes it back to the townhouse before Frank and his fishing party. Christiana returns to her practice, and Rachel gives her staff the afternoon off. Then she walks over to her small office, really a large sunny alcove with huge windows, off of the main bedroom. She pulls the binder that Frank had shown her off of a shelf and rests it on the desk. She pages through it for about 15 minutes, shaking her head. Then she picks up the cordless phone and dials a number. After three rings, Terrell picks up.

"Hi, Terrell," Rachel says. "It's me, Rachel."

"Oh, hey," he says, sounding relaxed. "It's been a long time since we talked. I was beginning to think you'd never thank me for the flowers, Rachel."

"Oh, right, yeah," Rachel says, touching her forehead. "They were really pretty. Thank you. They are um, enjoying the sunshine as we speak."

"So what's the occasion?" Terrell says, sounding like he's smiling.

Rachel mentions that she and Frank were talking about him, specifically his checkered past. It wasn't the sort of conversation Terrell had been expecting, since the Rachel he had been trying to curry favor with in the last several months was less guarded and more receptive to what he's had to say. But with the binder open in front of her, it was as if Frank was beside Rachel in the room, urging her on. That was Frank's handwriting in the margins, his neat printing on the adhesive notes that checkered the section labeled "finance." That book served as her backup, gave her enough guts to press Terrell to fill in the gaps of the story on the pages before her, and get him to tell her his side of things. But he didn't appreciate it fully.

"Rachel, why do I get he feeling I'm on trial here?"

"You're not. Don't be that way," Rachel laughs lightly. "But you have to admit that these incidents raise questions."

"What types of questions?"

"Well, like with the kids," Rachel says slowly. "I mean, do you see them? Are you on good terms with them and all?"

"I actually do, and pretty regularly," Terrell says. "Look, it would have been better to have all my kids with one … special lady, of course. But things didn't work out that way back then."

Rachel huffs when he mentions "special lady," wondering if he meant a special lady in general, or if he regretted the mistakes that drove them apart.

"So Fletcher is the only one that you hardly ever see?" Rachel says, holding the end of the phone and frowning.

"Bingo," Terrell says. "And I need to change that. We both know it's only right, Rachel. He only has one father, and he needs to know who he is."

There it was again, another dig at Frank. Terrell always managed to take a swing at her fiancé, but Rachel rarely challenged him, not wanting to get emotionally involved in a petty spat.

"Terrell, I can't just snap my fingers and make it happen," Rachel says. "Frank definitely has a say in this, too. And he isn't comfortable with it."

Terrell becomes irate, grumbling epithets and saying he doesn't care what makes Frank uncomfortable. Then he demands to know why a stranger should direct how and when he sees his son. Rachel shoots back that Frank is no stranger at all, and that Fletcher is already as close to him as a stepson. And she points out that Terrell himself directed his relationship with his own son by ignoring him for years. To this Terrell tells her to get over it, and stop being the spoiled little princess of David Fletcher Marron, her father. That's when the verbal fight begins in earnest, getting louder and more emotional until Frank, Herb and Fletcher come home. By then, Terrell is insulting Frank, threatening to seek court-ordered visitation rights to Fletcher, and Rachel answers that if he makes one step in that direction she'll have his head.

"Well if Frank is full of shit, then so are you, Terrell!" Rachel yells. "It's all or nothing with both of you, and nobody is thinking about Fletcher or me. We're caught in the middle while you try to play the dad again! Tomorrow you'll get bored of us, and walk out of our lives again, watch!"

By now, Frank has come upstairs, and he is approaching Rachel. She hasn't realized that they have all arrived home, and she doesn't hear Frank come up behind her. He puts a hand on her shoulder and she turns around, eyes puffy and red from hot, angry tears. Rachel straightens her back and stutters a hello, wiping her face. Frank motions for her to give him the phone.

"Is that him? Terrell?" He asks quietly.

Rachel would have shaken her head to deny it, but the binder with all of their research on Terrell was open on her desk, and a brown leather phone book turned open to his page was sitting on top of it. She dried her tears as Frank slipped the phone out of her hand and stepped closer to the desk. The conversation between the men wasn't much better.

"Who do you think your talking to like that, Terrell, screaming and yelling?"

"Your fiance called me, man," Terrell says, dragging out the word fiance until it almost snaps. "If you would handle your business at home, that wouldn't even be necessary."

"You know, Terrell, I've changed my mind about you," Frank laughs. "You're welcome here any time you think you're man enough to trifle with my family."

"I DON'T CARE WHO YOU'RE F$)&^5 , THAT'S NOT YOUR SON, YOU # $/&$# #$ 45 /78. &^!

The expletives fly so furiously that Frank simply hangs up on Terrell, rather than continue arguing. The weeks and months ahead would bring about the consequences of that, but for the moment, Frank concentrates on Rachel.

He holds her hand as they go to the main bedroom and sit on the bed. He asks her about the phone call and how it all turned into an argument. But Rachel shakes her head, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

"Frank, I just want to do something else," Rachel says. "Talking about Fletcher's father always seems to end in an argument, and I don't want to do that."

She stands up quickly and heads to the bathroom to wash her face. When she comes back she asks how fishing went.

"I'll show you," Frank says, standing up. "Fletcher made an amazing catch."

Rachel raises her eyebrows as Frank holds his hands apart to show the length of the fish.

"Really? Well, is it enough to make sushi?"

"Rachel, we're not having sushi," Frank shakes his head, laughing. "We're going to grill the fish. We're keeping it simple."

"Why not sushi? My friend knows the executive chef at Ice. We could get a sous chef over here tonight to make us a few rolls," Rachel says, crossing her arms.

Several hours later, a chef is making sushi rolls in Frank and Rachel's kitchen, while Herb and Frank cook up two other fish on the grill outside. The small casual dinner gathering swelled to a tranquil party of about two dozen. Frank and Rachel are sitting together, as he lifts a roll off of a plate with chopsticks and places it in her mouth.

"Are you going to tell me about the ideas you got for the wedding while visiting the farm today?" Frank says, moving a couple of other pieces around his plate.

Rachel shrugs and finishes the piece Frank gave her. Then she sips her wine, dabs the corners of her mouth with her napkin and crosses and uncrosses her legs.

"Well, I think the place is really pretty, you know that." Rachel begins. "It's one of my favorite places in the world, that farm."

Frank's expression changes as Rachel scratches her upper lip.

"But …" he urges, watching her closely.  
"I don't know, I just think we should also talk about the cathedral," Rachel says.

"Well, why would we do that, when the farm was decided?" Frank sits up taller.

"Actually, no Frank, it wasn't decided by me." Rachel rests her hands on her legs. "You said Christiana gave us permission to use the farm. It's there if we want to use it. But I haven't signed onto the idea yet."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Just call Christiana and tell her we want to use the farm," Frank says, sipping from a beer glass. "We don't have until forever, you know."

"Frank, I realize that, but I still say we have more time to think about other options," Rachel says firmly. She looks down, thinking about the fitted dress with the crystal beadwork, instantly flashing to Frank waiting for her at the end of an aisle, inside the sanctuary. As edgy and forthright as Rachel can be, calling shots with her career and having run her personal life without any major catastrophic events so far, the symbol of modern womanhood of the 90s wanted to get married in a white dress in a church.

"I don't think we really need to weigh any other options," Frank says quietly. "The farm is ours, yours. It's tucked away, quiet, private, spacious and pretty."

They went on like that for a few minutes until Rachel begins to wonder if she was scheduled to argue with every man in her life that day. Even Bill had expressed some irritation during their last conference call about how much money she was paying some of her other professional staff, especially Sy. At least she was on good terms with Fletcher and Herb.

"Well, since I'm the one getting married, too, we do need to think about other options," Rachel says. "I can't and don't want to always be hiding from the world, Frank. This is the life. Sometimes when you go places and do things you get photographed and total privacy isn't possible."

"Rachel, it's bad enough that publicist of yours is still on the job," Frank says. "But if you keep giving him reasons to let the vultures in the door, you're going to lose the right to keep them out one day."

"Frank, I can't help it!" Rachel says a little louder than she intended. They become self conscious as several people mill about them, wandering close enough to hear them. "Let's just talk about this later."

"Yeah, we have a lot to talk about later," Frank says.

Later turns into the next day. Rachel helps Herb get organized for his trip home, and even rides with Frank to bring him to Kennedy airport the next morning. Frank helps check his father in and walks him close to the departure gate, then gives him a hearty hug goodbye. They pull away as Rachel steps in to hug her future father-in-law.

"Next time we see you, I'll almost have this son of yours hooked," Rachel jokes. "Take care, Herb."

On the ride home, Rachel and Frank are mostly quiet. Rachel alternately stares out the window and makes calls on the car phone, as Frank focuses on the traffic. When they finally get back to their house, Rachel picks up a note on the kitchen table from her assistant.

"It's from Fletcher and Diane," she says. "They went out to the pool. They'll be back in … another hour or so."

Rachel puts the note down and smiles mildly at Frank.

"So Frank," Rachel asks. "Do you still want to talk?"

"I think we have to," he says.

* * *

_In the next installment: Frank and Rachel clear the air, and continue planning their wedding; Terrell doesn't take no for an answer; and Rachel makes her operetta/Broadway stage debut!_


	8. An Understanding

_Hi shippers/readers. I know it's been a very long time since I've updated 'Baby Daddy Drama,' but I've had sooo much going on IRL, not to mention other little fiction projects going on. I'll try hard not to let so much time slip between updates! _

_In the last installment, you'll remember that Rachel had a huge birthday party, and the wedding planning started in earnest._ _Let's see what happens after Frank and Rachel finally have an honest talk about what each wants for the big day. _

* * *

A short while later, Frank and Rachel are sitting on a park bench positioned against the rear wall of their backyard. The landscaper had pruned a lush canopy out of the lower branches of a pin oak. Combined with an east-west breeze, it was refuge from the late July heat.

They quickly move into the conversation, each of them eager to be heard. Frank tries to get through to Rachel about privacy and safety, while Rachel tries to get Frank to loosen up and see the wedding in a more celebratory light.

"Rachel, let me start by saying it will be a major headache to get married in a public place like the cathedral," he says, grasping her knee and fixing his blue eyes on her. "We won't have privacy. It's too vulnerable."

"Are you still worried about some sort of attack or incident?" Rachel squeezes Frank's hand. "That's all in the past, and I wish you would just try to see this as a beautiful day. It's about you, me and our family."

"Exactly! And the best way to ensure that is for you to be at your family's place, where we can pretty much control everything," Frank says.

"We can make the church our own space, Frank," Rachel says. "We can hire all the security that we need, and make it as private as we want. We can even get the police to cordon off a few blocks around the area, if necessary."

Frank is quiet for a few moments, bristling at the obnoxiousness of blocking public roads for a superstar's wedding. Unfortunately, his filters fail him.

"That's … the most obnoxious idea, honey," Frank says flatly. "Blocking roads? You're not the president and I'm not the pontiff …"

"Frank come on!" Rachel begins her defense.

"No you come on, Rachel! I mean why should the entire neighborhood have to be put out, and why should we shell out all that money for what boils down to something that should be private?"

"Be-cause it's big deal! It's a huge day, Frank, not a cookout!" Rachel huffs. "What is the point of working my ss off all these years, if I can't even marry the man I want in the _way that I want_?!"

Rachel and Frank go back and forth for a few minutes, escalating pretty quickly into full-on arguing.

"Here we go again! What Rachel wants, Rachel gets! It's the same with everything else," Frank says. "Sy is still around. That wedding planner is becoming a pain in the ass, and when it comes to Terrell you have no boundaries at all."

Rachel feels her temples begin to throb as Frank goes on. Frank promised to _talk to _her this time, not lecture her.

"I don't want to keep having the same conversation with you!" Rachel turns in her seat, facing Frank. "I think I should have earned your respect and your support by now."

"Well, when you start making decisions I can see some sense in, you'll get my respect and support," Frank says. His words sting Rachel. She fumbles for words as he flexes his wrists first, and then drags his hands down his face. Rachel slumps back against the bench. After two years together, Frank still sees her as a haughty prima donna, she thinks. She shakes her head and leans her chin on her hand to keep it from quaking, to stop herself from dissolving into tears. She stands up suddenly to leave and turns to look at Frank. Before he can say anything, she slaps him hard, and marches out of the garden.

A few minutes later, Rachel is sitting on her bed, crying. How did she get here, again? Upset because Frank made her feel small and frivolous. He still thinks she's a flake! She gathers her pillow into a firm ball in her lap and leans on it, worried for the first time in years that they won't make it.

Meanwhile, Frank paces the garden, frustrated with himself. He did it again! He let his strong protective sense take a turn for the negative, and wounds the one person he was supposed to protect the most.

"What a mess," he mutters to himself.

The problem, as Frank sees it, is outdoor wedding would be perfect. Rachel never looked more lovely to him than she did when they were at his father's house. She's a natural beauty, and belonged in the only setting that could come close to matching her radiance. Why no one else saw that, including Rachel, was a mystery to him. Still, she wanted a church wedding, for some odd reason.

"I suppose we could work it out," he says, rubbing his temples. He looks up staring at their bedroom window for a few moments, then heads into the house, putting his mind to cameras, roped-off areas and security details.

As he walks through the back door, mudroom and kitchen, Frank hears Fletcher and Diane come through the vestibule and drop their pool gear in the entry hall.

"Hey, how was the pool?"

"Crowded!" Fletcher says. "And we saw some people we know."

"Like who?"

Diane has been shaking her head, but doesn't catch Fletcher's eye in time.

"We saw my Dad!" Fletcher says. "He was there by himself, but we had a good time swimming and splashing and stuff."

Frank shakes his head and tells Fletcher that sounds nice. The air is crisp with tension as Frank realizes that he and Rachel need to contain Terrell as much as possible and soon. They could hardly avoid seeing him in a public area, but "running into" Fletcher like that at the private club pool? The guy was getting out of control.

"Diane, can I talk to you?" He pulls Diane aside to the living room, and sends Fletcher into the kitchen to get a snack.

"What happened?" He asks as soon as Fletcher is out of earshot. "Didn't Rachel mention anything about Terrell to the staff? And how did he just happen to pop up at the same pool where you and Fletcher would be?"

Diane is at a loss, explaining that the pool and the club are private, so Terrell must have been a guest of another member, or a member himself.

"This is too weird," Frank says. Then he looks up the stairs in the direction of Rachel's bedroom. This was the worst time to pressure her about Terrell or anything else. Clearly, she needed to get control of this situation, but before she did that, she had to know he was on her side. Maybe that would make her stronger. Frank moved toward the stairs and put his hand on the banister before taking the first step.

"I'll tell Rachel about this," Frank says. "Mention to Fletcher that he should keep it under his hat for a couple of days."

Diane nods and walks to the kitchen. Then Frank heads upstairs. When he gets to the top of the stairs and turns the corner to head to the bedrooms, he slows his gait. How would he approach her, and would she forgive him—again—for being so high-handed? He meant to hear her out. He started the conversation perfectly willing to compromise with Rachel, but when his thoughts turned to the potential dangers surrounding her and Fletcher, that's when he faltered.

He grasps the doorknob of their bedroom door, which still smelled of fresh paint, twists the knob and opens the door open. He sees Rachel lying on the bed, facing the window. The shades are up, but the drapes are drawn, letting in a soft mid-afternoon light.

"Rachel? Baby, are you asleep?"

Rachel stretches her legs out and rolls over onto her back, turning her head the rest of the way to meet Frank's gaze as he stands in the doorway. She shakes her head no, as he crosses the room and slides onto the bed with her. Frank eases himself down onto the bed and pulls Rachel into a tight spooning position. They lay like that for a couple of minutes, just listening to each other breathe. Then Frank speaks.

"Rachel, I'm sorry for what I said earlier," Frank says. "Of course I respect you. You have no idea how much I do, and I think you do make a lot of great decisions."

"Just not in my personal life," Rachel says dryly. Frank doesn't answer, because he doesn't want to think about the ways in which Rachel's personal life might have worked out for the better.

Frank rubs her forehead, hoping to make her see how sorry he was that he spoke to her the way that he did. Then he pauses, before turning her face to look right at him.

"You know Rachel, it really doesn't matter where we get married," Frank says. "And wedding days are supposed to be about looking forward and being hopeful. Not watching out for danger around every corner."

Rachel begins to sit up, pushing a silk embroidered decorative pillow out of her way.

"If you want to get married at Abyssinian Baptist Church, then that's what we'll do," Frank says. "You can tell Amy to book the church—on one condition."

"What's that? Anything!" She tosses the pillow to the other side of the bed.

"I was going to suggest we use the farm for the rehearsal dinner," Frank says. "What do you think about that?"

"It's brilliant!" Rachel says. "I don't even think Miss Amy could object to that."

"Yeah, well if she does put up a fuss, then it's the last straw," Frank says. "She can take her attitude and step."

"What did you say? 'She can step?' Listen to Frank, all down n' shit!" Rachel thanks him over and over, making sure to kiss him every time he says, 'you're welcome.' Frank tries to remind Rachel of her meeting with the director, producer and cast of Porgy & Bess, to discuss the schedule for previews, plus her photo shoot for a New York arts magazine after that. Rachel would have completely succeeded in overriding his speech and erasing everything from his mind, as she rolled Frank onto his back and kissed him, but then he remembered that Fletcher was home.

"Listen, Rachel," Frank says, reluctantly pulling her off of him. "Fletcher and Diane are home. And … we'll have to pick this up later. OK?"

Rachel shakes her head and shrugs.

"I'll just have to ... tackle you later," she says.

Later that afternoon, Frank and Rachel drive to the theater for her meeting. He pulls the Range Rover into a parking garage near the theater, and they leave the car with the attendant and walk through the theater. After they walk in, they realize that Rachel is the first to show up for the meeting, so she walks Frank backstage to where the dressing rooms are, to show him where hers will be.

They open the door to her dressing room quietly, and click on several lights.

"So this is where they'll make me stage ready," Rachel says, resting her handbag and cup of coffee on the dressing table. "It's pretty simple now, but the decorators are going to come in and change the curtains, put in some nicer furniture and ... replace that over there."

Rachel points to a day bed nestled into a far wall. It's simply made up with floral upholstering and a dust ruffle. Frank laughs a little and shakes his head.

"What's wrong with that one right there? And how much time to you plan to spend in here, anyway?"

"Well, I'll be rehearsing quite a bit. Long days and all," she says, smiling. "I'll need a place to rest my head. Anyway, I just think it doesn't really suit me. What do you think?"

By now, Rachel is grinning slyly at Frank. She holds both of his hands and walks backward toward the bed.

About a half hour after that, Frank is standing behind Rachel, who is seated at the dressing table reapplying her lip gloss. She closes the tube, looking at Frank's face in the reflection.

"Are you going to wait for me?" she asks, shaking her hair.

"I need to go home and make myself a power shake, Miss Marron," Frank says, looking at Rachel. "You still have that prowling feline look in your eyes. I'll send a car for you, OK?"

Rachel smiles, turns around and kisses him yet again. They leave the dressing room together and make their way to the main theater space. Frank exits while Rachel heads for the seats, toward the rest of the cast.

Rachel struts through the theater, spine straight and shoulders back, looking dead ahead through a huge pair of white-framed sunglasses. As she says hi to everyone, Leslie, her understudy and supporting cast member, can't contain their giggling. Rachel finds a seat, drops her bag into the empty chair next to her, then crosses her legs.

"Yes, ma'am?" she says to Leslie. But she doesn't take off her sunglasses

"How's Frank?"

"He's fine," Rachel says, straightening out her dress.

"We know _that_," Leslie shakes her head. "Or should I say 'How _was_ he?'

"I beg your pardon?!"

"The walk of shame is all over you, Rachel. We haven't decorated our rooms yet, and you've already christened yours."

Rachel grins despiste herself. Despite their chicanery, the meeting is productive. They'll go to previews in a couple of weeks, which will run for about a month, and then opening night will follow shortly afterward. Based on the calendar of dates that the director and producer hand out, opening night falls right before Frank leaves.

Over the next couple of days, Rachel bounces everywhere she goes. She blasts music in the morning, gets through all of her workouts without complaint and even has kind words for the release of a new album by Magdalene, a raunchy singer with whom she has always vied for top slots on the charts. She's in such a great mood that Frank almost forgets to tell her about Terrell's appearance. But when Rachel explains the lineup of events to follow in the weeks and month ahead, Frank realizes that it's time to get serious. He sits her down one evening to explain what Fletcher and Diane say happened at the pool. Rachel acknowledges that it was an odd coincidence, and almost an intrusion, but she doesn't seem as alarmed as Frank thinks she should be. She does ask him to shorten his assignment in the Middle East, though.

"Frank I think you should try to get back here _before_ March," Rachel says.

"You know I can't do that, Rachel," Frank says. "I've made a commitment. People are depending on me, and I can't just back out and change things. You'll be safe here."

But it wasn't Rachel's physical safety she was most concerned about. Out of all the men that she had ever dated, only two really could push her buttons on any given day. Frank was one and Terrell was the other. With Frank away, everything that Terrell did would get to her skin ten times more than it would if Frank were near.

Frank tells her to focus on her show, which had gone into previews by then. After her first night as Bess, Rachel finds that she loves performing in theater, calling it a "one-stop tour. Instead of me going to every city in every country, they all come to me!"

And they dropped to her feet after that first few nights. Her reviews were very strong, ranging from some critics who said they were "pleasantly surprised that the pop diva actually had the skill, discipline and talent to possibly ascend to the ranks of a legitimate force in theater," to others who simply said: 'What did you expect? The woman charms the pants off of men and women alike everywhere she goes."

At home, though, Rachel dreaded October 10, the day Frank would leave. When she resigned herself to the fact that he wouldn't stay, and he wouldn't shorten his stint abroad, she became an outright predator. She interrupted his showers, shook him awake at 3 a.m., and showed up at his desk, clothed only in his dress shirts.

One afternoon, while he's at his desk reading from a binder, he heard the office door swing open and then click shut, but he didn't look up. He smells Rachel's perfume, then senses that she is sitting on his desk. Still, he keeps reading. He hears Rachel clear her throat, which made him look up, with a start. Rachel is lying across the length of his desk, wearing a crisp white oxford shirt tied at her chest, exposing her belly. She is wearing red sequined shorts, tiny ones that fit to her figure, and she wore red stiletto heals. She was crossing her legs behind her, swinging them back and forth lightly. He tries to ignore her, but she sighs and hums and clears her throat, all while peering at her book. He goes back to his reading, but after a while, he has to stop.

"Rachel," Frank says.

"Yes, Frank," Rachel turns a page briskly and peers at the page thoughtfully.

"Your book is upside down," Frank says. To answer that, Rachel sits up and reaches down, pulling up a black leather jacket out off the floor. She flings it at Frank.

"Well, I'm glad someone is paying attention to the way thins work in the library," Rachel, says, shaking out her hair. "I mean, you bikers always come in here and break the rules!"

Frank rolls his eyes and picks the jacket up off the floor.

"Rachel, do you want to talk about what's going on or not?"

"I'd be happy to pull you behind the stacks and talk about it, starting with –"

Frank interrupts by reaching for her and pulling her into his lap.

"Just stop all these little games and tell me what's bothering you," Frank says. Rachel would have gone further and kept up the act, but feeling Frank's warm secure arms around her was reassuring. After a couple of minutes, she rests her head on Frank's shoulder and explains that she'll be very lonely after he's gone.

"And this is a new city for me, new school for Fletcher," Rachel says. "There is so much to get used to. I just need some more familiarity around me. This is going to a long, long six months."

Frank started to feel a little guilty after hearing Rachel explain herself. No imperious, petulant demands from the days when he first met her. No manipulation. He pulled her closer and explained everything he would do to try to be accessible to her. He would fly home right away if she urgently needed him, and most of all, it would be the last long overseas assignment, even if he did travel abroad again.

"You promise?" Rachel sits up and leans back to get a good look at Frank's face. He never lied to Rachel, and never intended to let her down. He always seemed to underestimate how much she needed and depended on him, though, so circumstances usually worked out in similarly.

"Rachel, I want to move forward with our lives as much as you do," Frank says. "This will let us do that. And anyway, you can handle this. You're a big girl, right?"

"I guess," Rachel sighs and drops her head on his shoulder again. "But I want you to hurry back, put that ring on my finger, and start giving me babies, OK?"

"Yes, ma'am," Frank says.

"Three boys," Rachel adds.

"Wow, umm," Frank clears his throat. "Sounds noisy. Don't you want to have a little girl in the mix?"

Rachel is shaking her head no.

"I'm the queen of this house. I love it," she says. "And I really don't some little girl trying to turn 13 and give me gray hairs."

Frank nods, but he has a feeling Rachel would change her mind. She loves to dress up herself and had taken to buying outfits for Christiana's daughter.

"So you're the only girl I have to spoil, then, right?" Frank asks.

"That's right," Rachel swings her legs as Frank moves lips closer to hers.

"OK, I think I've got those rules down," Frank says. Pulling Rachel closer. "I'm glad you took the time to explain them."

Rachel is smiling softly at this point, as Frank moved her chin close to his face for a kiss.

* * *

_Next time: Rachel's show opens up, while she juggles motherhood responsibilities. Meanwhile, one of her staff members reveals (to us, dear readers) a secret. _


	9. All About Amy

**_Hi shippers,_**

**_It's been ages since I've 'checked in' on Frank and Rachel. Real life has been full of dramas of its own, so I've just had the chance to write a new chapter. Let's get right into it. You'll notice that I changed course a bit from the original intent, but I'll be able to get back on track easily enough._**

* * *

Frank and Rachel close out July knowing that they'll have the huge church wedding that Rachel wants, and assured that her show is headed for success. It helps Rachel to deal with Frank's pending trip and their looming separation. They spend August getting Fletcher ready for school, a project that involves meetings with the headmaster first. Rachel actually enjoys the process, because Frank embraces his role as Fletcher's father figure completely. He attends every meeting, asks questions she doesn't think of, and helps her deal with paperwork to get Fletcher enrolled.

They even host a luncheon with the few members of the parents' guild who aren't away at their summer homes in the Hamptons or in Europe. Rachel tells Fletcher that it's OK for him to go ride his skateboard through Central Park with a friend. It is during this lunch, that Frank sees a change in Amy. She's there to inspect the centerpieces, because she helped organize the party and wants to see how the new florist is working out.

She avoids looking at Frank directly, and keeps her remarks to him short. Her cell phone keeps ringing throughout the party, and each time she picks up she talks for a moment, then goes into the house to talk. After it rings for the fourth time, and she picks up, Frank excuses himself and follows her into the house. After they pass through the kitchen and butler's pantry, which the caterers have turned into a command center, he follows her to the living room, where she stops at the piano.

"I'm working right now. Can't this wait?"

"Yes, that's a good idea," Frank says, clearing his throat. "Hang up, Amy."

She immediately turns around, eyes widening. She ends the call and claps the phone shut, as Frank asks.

"Is something distracting you, Amy?"

"Oh, it's just a quick personal call, Frank. Rachel allows me to have those while I'm working around her."

"But it seems like this is your fourth 'quick' and 'personal' phone call this afternoon."

"Well, like I said before, Rachel allows..."

"Rachel has been pulled away from her own party a couple of times already to deal with things that you should be doing," Frank says.

Amy merely shifts her weight from one leg to the other, casually snapping the lid on the phone instead. She scans the room in contempt and boredom, and offers no apology. Frank is almost incredulous, but continues.

"So can you please turn off your phone for now and stay involved? Let Rachel focus on being Fletcher's mom for today."

Amy complies, almost begrudgingly. Frank steps aside and gestures for her to walk ahead of him, which she does. They retrace their path to the back, and Amy stops in the kitchen, where the caterer is talking to Rachel's part-time chef.

"So what's next?" Amy asks, picking up her clipboard. The caterer begins to explain that the salad course is over, and the entrees are next. As they chat, Frank pauses at the back door, resting his slender fingers on the rough mesh and watching Rachel's garden party unfold. She looks beautiful again, wearing a simple, but elegant, orange dress. Several women surround her, and although Frank can't hear her or read her lips, her gestures suggest that she is telling them how he proposed. When one of the women asks to see her ring, that's when he pushes open the door and steps outside. As he gets closer, Frank listens as they extol the cut, clarity and setting of the stones.

"It's like Diana's ring," one woman said.

"Genevieve, don't be simple," chided the apparent queen of the hive. "Diana wears an oval cut sapphire. It's a rather plain ring, if you ask me. This is more fashion forward. It's more..."

"Bling," the first woman giggled.

"Don't be hip hop fabulous, either, Ginny," the Queen Bee glares at her. "The more appropriate word is ...," she drags out the last word as she watches Frank approach and finally says, "exquisite."

Frank stops next to Rachel, puts his arm around her waist and kisses her. Then he tells the crowd that the main course should be coming out momentarily.

As lunch goes on, Amy focuses on running the party.

After another several hours, Amy is overseeing the caterers consolidating leftovers, packing away food, and breaking down their tables. After they leave, she walks into the vestibule to organize and pack her tote bag. She pulls Rachel's wedding planning binder out of her bag to make room for her cell phone, and begins to page through it. She stops at a small stack of typed pages stapled together, the guest list. Amy walks back to the kitchen looking for Rachel, and finds her in the pantry. She's leaning against the counter with Frank, hugging him close and resting her head on his shoulder. He seems to be whispering something to her, making her smile. Amy steps closer and clears her throat.

Rachel stands up straighter, and moves away from Frank, who looks around at Amy and nods politely.

"Rachel, I just realized that you need to update your guest list," Amy says. "There are two. One for family and close friends for the rehearsal dinner, and another for the actual wedding day, with your bigger circle of friends, dignitaries."

"Dignitaries?" Frank says, but Rachel holds up her hand, and he backs down. Rachel tells Amy that she'll review the list.

"I also need the current mailing addresses for your old college friends," Amy says. "Do you think you can get that back to me in about a week?"

"Yeah, sure," Rachel says, taking the list from Amy. "Just a little homework between script readings, right?"

Amy actually smiles at that, genuinely in good spirits for the first time that afternoon. Then she ventures a question.

"Are you sure that you don't want to do an engagement party? I could still pull some names out of the main list and throw together -"

"We're pretty sure about not wanting another party," Frank says, nodding and sliding his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. Rachel shrugs to signal her agreement with Frank's point.

"Let's just manage all the other festivities, Amy," she says. "There's a shower, bachelorette party, all sorts of things. We're all set. Anyway, you shouldn't give me any reasons to work you any harder!"

"Well, if you don't need me anymore, I'm heading home," Amy says.

"Thanks for putting in so much effort today, Amy," Rachel says, smiling. "Things were a lot smoother with you here, and I could focus on these … new ladies!"

Amy and Frank silently glance at each other.

"Any plans for later?" Rachel says paging through the list.

"I'm going home to make an actual dinner, instead of eating cereal or microwaving another frozen dinner. Then I'll put my feet up and relax with a book and a glass of wine," Amy says.

"That second part sounds great!" Rachel says, hugging her. "Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner, though?"

"No, I'm fine," Amy says, rubbing Rachel's back quietly. "So I'll leave you with that list and talk to you in a couple of days or so. I'll call you."

Rachel walks Amy to the table, where Amy gets her bag together. Then she sees her out. After Rachel shuts the front door behind Amy and walks back to Frank, Amy slides her sunglasses onto her face and jogs down the brownstone's front steps. She walks one block west, stops at a pay phone and shuts herself in. She leans against the wall of the booth and runs her hand through her hair as she drops a quarter into the slot and dials a number.

"Come on, honey. Pick up – " the line clicks over on the fourth ring, as Amy starts talking to her boyfriend. She looks around her and then in the direction of Rachel's townhouse.

"Hey Baby," a deep male voice greets her. "You on your way home?"

"Yes, I am," Amy sighs. "I'll probably take a cab today, 'cause I'm so tired. Could you start dinner, please? There's a pack of – "

"Frozen fresh ravioli. Found it already and figured it would make a nice dinner with homemade sauce," he says. "How about that?"

"Perfect! Did you get a bottle of wine?" Amy says.

"Yeah, but I didn't break the bank," he says. "Look, just pick up a quick dessert if you want and come home. I'll even give you a back rub in a hot bath if you want."

"Okay," she says. They hang up and she hails a cab shortly afterward.

In several minutes, Amy's cab is cutting through Central Park. As the green foliage whizzes past her car, she leans her head back on the seat, unable to snooze as it bobs and swerves across town. She's looking forward to getting a break from planning Rachel's wedding for a couple of days. Maybe she could use the time to work on other lucrative projects, or even sleep, she thinks smiling quietly. Whatever the case, she looks forward to rest from a woman who can be as exhausting as exciting to work for. If only she had a free hand to run the festivities as she pleased! Rachel has exquisite taste, is a lot of fun and Amy feels confident that she could plan a memorable series of festivities. But Rachel's fiancé, whose tastes were as simple as beer-and-burgers, was really tripping up the proceedings, and whose mood was as serious as a vice principal's.

This is going to be the wedding of the year, for goodness sake! Why is Rachel's fiance being such a downer, and what did a gifted, gorgeous A-lister like Rachel see in this guy, anyway? Sure, he is good looking, but he seems to almost tamp down Rachel's effervescent personality at times. Amy is pretty sure that after the marriage, he would frown on the types of parties that Rachel was used to throwing. It's a shame, too, because she loves to laugh, sing and party. She just turned 30, Amy thinks. She'll want to have a couple of kids. Is he going to scoff at a baby shower? What does he think, that a kids' birthday at McDonald's is going to cut it. Maybe after six or seven years together and she gets her siblings for Fletcher, they'll split up, Amy smirks.

After another half hour, Amy is walking up the stairwell of her own apartment building, balancing her bag and a small white box of desserts.

Right after she slides her key in the lock, the door swings into the apartment. The aromas of cooking pasta greet her, mingled with chilled air, as her boyfriend smiles down to greet her. He has slightly dark brown skin, a square jaw and pointy chin. It is Terrell, looking like a grown-up Fletcher.

"Get in here, girl!" he pulls her inside, kissing her.

After a quarter of an hour, they are eating dinner.

"So how was your day, today?" Terrell says, putting a piece of ravioli in his mouth.

"Busy. Really busy," Amy says, and begins describing the party. After delivering several basic details, Amy sinks into a diatribe about Rachel's new crowd of rich, snooty, east coast harpies.

"As opposed to her overly tanned, rich west coast harpies with fake noses?" he raises an eyebrow at her.

"Oh come on, Terrell," Amy says. "You know as well as I do what it's like to work for women like that. They think you're there to wipe their noses and clean up after them. All her rich ibtch friends could do was talk about their big houses and fly jewelry. Make me sick, all of them."

Amy snatches up her glass of wine and swirls it around before taking a sip.

"And Frank!" she shakes her head. The mention of his name makes Terrell sit back in his chair and wipe his mouth.

"What did he do, Amy?"

"He's just a … freak, that's all," she says. "He was just down my neck, you know? That's why it was so hard to have a decent talk with you on my cell phone. I pay enough for it, and I can't even get my money's worth and use it when I'm over there."

"Sounds messed up," Terrell says. "But listen, Baby. He leaves the country in a few weeks. Then we can move ahead with what we've been planning. I already have a couple of reporters at the Daily News ready to eat up whatever we can give them."

"Terrell, I think we should hold our fire until we can land a bigger editor," Amy says. "Maybe someone at People or something."

"What about Julia? Does she have any contacts at the big outlets?"

"She's completely out of this, I told you," Amy says. "I've been watching how she works, and she has an 'off' switch, where she doesn't even work after certain hours or on certain days. And she's loyal, like admned collie or something. She won't be in on this at all."

Terrell merely nods, and then scoops some salad onto his plate.

"And there's one other thing, Terrell," Amy says. "I need you to be more careful about when and where you show up. You know, like using my guest passes to Rachel's club on the day Fletcher would be there."

Terrell finishes pouring dressing on his salad and sucks a dollop from his thumb.

"I didn't feel like I had a choice, Amy," he says. "I mean what am I supposed to do when she won't let me see him? Especially now that her bulldog-slash-bodyguard-slash-help is always there and making it hard for me to be around."

"I know it's hard, but you have to hold back and wait," Amy says. "He'll be gone soon, and we can go ahead and do what we like after that. Take some of your own advice?"

Terrell apologizes and leans over to rub Amy's shoulder.

"I'll get your bath going after this, OK?" Amy nods as Terrell touches her face.

After dinner, Amy helps Terrell clean up, until he tells her to relax while he runs her bath. Shortly after that, she's sitting amidst a mound of bubbles when he knocks at the door, softly. She tells him to come in, and rests her arms on the side, watching him walk across the room to the side of the tub.

"Want company?" he says.

"What do _you_ think?" Amy smiles and slides over to make room for him as he prepares to join her.

* * *

_Next time: When does Tony hit town? Frank tries to think about how to handle the troublemakers on Rachel's team before he leaves. __How will Rachel handle the goodbye?_


	10. The Long Goodbye

**_Hi shippers,_**

**_That's wasn't so long of wait, was it? LOL. I'm trying to keep the updates to a reasonable frequency, so that even I can enjoy seeing how this situation pans out. Happy reading, and enjoy the holiday weekend._**

* * *

**Inside Frank & Rachel's Townhouse ...**

"No Rachel, no. Absolutely not!" Frank is trying not to shout at his fiancée. "We cannot have 800 people at our wedding! Have you lost your mind?"

Rachel is, in fact, in full possession of her faculties and crosses her legs as Frank paces their bathroom floor, counting off all the reasons why "only a lunatic" would agree to host that many people. She is sitting on the rim of the bathtub and smiles when he stops in front of her and rests his hands on his hips.

"Just hear me out," she says, raising her hand. "The ceremony at the cathedral would be large, I'll give you that. But then again we are very important people, and the whole world wants to see how we pull this off."

"Rachel, I can guarantee you the whole world is not interested in how we pull this off," Frank sighed. Like he did so many other times when Rachel wanted to 'go big,' while he tried to talk her into being low key. He had just barely talked her into buying a smaller property in L.A., rather than the sprawling, pretentious estate that she had considered, and which Sy and Amy preferred.

"I beg to differ," Rachel says. "Your old buddies at the secret service will want to know. Or at least their wives."

Rachel remained calm, even smiled a little as Frank complained about all the distractions, noise and security incumbent on a wedding that size. When he finished mumbling about all that, she stood up and walked over to him, sliding her arms flirtatiously around his waist.

"Well, you didn't let me finish," she says. "Let's have a big ceremony, and then host family and close friends only at the reception. It would still be our day and very intimate."

Frank rolls his eyes anyway.

"This is who we are, Frank. This is the life."

"No. We don't have to live that big life. We have the power to choose a different outcome for ourselves," Frank says.

Rachel drops her head backward, feigning exasperation. Then she looks at Frank again and smiles.

"If you stayed, we could have a long talk about it," she says, smiling.

"Nice try," Frank says, patting her rear. "For now, I have to get going. Tony's flight lands in 40 minutes. Would you mind letting me go so I can go pick him up from the airport?"

"I suppose," Rachel says, letting go of Frank. "Just get back safely, with my old friend. And I'll have breakfast ready for all of us."

"Sounds like my kind of wife," Frank says. "Would you mind ironing some of my shirts while you're at it?"

Rachel grabs a towel and snaps Frank's behind before he leaves the bathroom.

Almost an hour later, Frank is waiting near the luggage claim area inside Newark Airport. Frank spots Tony first, which isn't hard to do, since he was still one of the biggest people in any given room, on any given occasion. He waves from time to time until Tony spots him, too, and walks over. They shake hands and pat each other on the back, then make idle chatter until Tony's luggage comes around on the turnstile. Then they each grab one bag and head to Rachel's Range Rover. As Tony settles into his seat and clicks his seatbelt on, he smiles to himself a little and shakes his head.

"What is it?" Frank says, puzzled.

"I never thought I'd see you driving one of these things," Tony says. "I always figured this was too highfalutin and stuff for you."

"Well, usually it is," Frank says. "But Rachel talked me into it. She's been ... talking me into a lot of stuff lately."

They don't say much as they pull away from the curb and navigate their way out of the airport, but once they merge into the highway headed east back to Manhattan, Frank relaxes and starts filling Tony in on their domestic life. They touch on the new neighborhood, Fletcher's new school and friends, and then finally make their way to a subject that Frank had anticipated, even though it fill him with apprehensions.

"Tony, I feel like Rachel really needs a strong person to help watch her back as far as Terrell is concerned," he says, steering the car into the fast lane and overtaking a van. "I know he's trying to work every angle he can find to get back into her life, Fletcher's life, into the house and ... I just don't trust him."

"You think he's trying to ... get Rachel back?"

"It's more than that," Frank says. He tells Tony what he found in Terrell's car during the visit out to the Pelhams' farm, and how it all happened during a surprise visit. Tony whistles long and loud.

"Man, he's got nerve showing up like that," he says. "What did Rachel say?"

"She was upset. Livid," Frank says. The car slows down as they see the George Washington Bridge in the distance. The day is still new, and the sky is streaked with a pale morning orange fading into blue. "But then I also found out ... correction ... Terrell told me that he and Rachel had dinner together while I was in London."

"She never told me about a dinner with Terrell," Tony says.

"That's probably because she knew you might warn her against it," Frank adds. He unbuckles his seat belt to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. Tony stops him and takes some cash out of his jacket breast pocket, which he hands to Frank to pay the toll. As they drive onto the bridge, Frank looks around him, at the rocky hillsides of northern New Jersey giving way to the Hudson River winding beneath them. Everything looks still, clean and tranquil, but he knows that once he leaves New York, that could change. Unless Rachel finds a way to maintain her wits and keep the leeches and weirdos around her in check.

"That's why I really need you to have her back, Tony," Frank says again, this time rubbing his forehead. "I haven't figured out Terrell's end game yet, but I know it isn't just about messing up her plans to get married and move on without him. There might be a money motive, too."

Frank continues to talk as he leaves the bridge and drives along the West Side Highway, getting close to their neighborhood. For some reason, despite the tranquil morning, he can feel that something is amiss. Something is wrong at home.

"And there's one more character I need you to look out for," Frank says. "It's Amy, the wedding planner."

"Oh yeah?" Tony says. "What harm could a little party planner do?"

Frank sighs heavily and begins talking about Amy's scornful attitude toward anything that isn't designer, expensive or being talked about on, in Frank's words "Robin Leach's ridiculous show about 'champagne wishes and caviar dreams.'"

"I remember how you wouldn't let him through the front gate and how it pissed Sy off to no end," Tony laughed.

"Yeah, well now it's Sy and Amy. To a lesser extent it's Julia, the personal publicist that Sy hired to handle all this stuff about the renovations in L.A., the New York house, Fletcher's new school, the Broadway show, while he does all her other standard professional stuff," Frank says. He's almost ranting at that point, until he holds the steering wheel so hard that it almost squeaks inside his grip.

"So you want me to look out for Amy," Tony nods. "I can do that. Anything in particular I should watch out for?"

"She's just stuck up, greedy and ... I don't know," Frank says. "I want to say 'lazy,' but she does work hard when you ask her to. But there are times when she's not doing what she's supposed to do. She's hiding something. Just wish I had more time to figure it out before I leave."

"This used to happen a lot in L.A.," Tony says. "The hangers-on and the leeches were everywhere. There's this attitude out there with people that if you have money, they deserve a piece of it. And if you can't let them have their slice, they're done with you. All Rachel has to do is make it clear to these people that she's not a money train."

"You think so?" Frank says, pulling the car into the garage where they rent a space.

"Well, let's say that it usually happens that way," Tony says. "Let's hope we can keep things calm while you're away."

Frank and Tony were on the front stoop greeted by the aromas of banana pancakes, warm maple syrup and sausages.

"Rachel is still cooking?" Tony laughs, as Frank nods. "I'd say that's a pretty cool bargain. She talks you into yuppie toys and you get her to cook."

Rachel and Fletcher's greeting is exuberant. Breakfast is pleasant, and the rest of the morning goes smoothly. So do the two weeks that go by. Amy makes herself as useful to Rachel as possible, always showing up after breakfast, plugging her laptop computer into the wall in the dining room and working through the day. For the rest of September, she sticks to a routine so steady and sedate that Tony begins to wonder if Frank isn't worrying for nothing.

Two days before Frank leaves in early October, autumn is coming to New York. Frank and Rachel decide to take their morning run together. They stretch, then take off down Fifth Avenue until they cut around food vendors setting up their trucks and head into Central Park. They jog along winding roads as incredibly fit-looking guys on roller blades zip past them, some of them casting side glances at Frank. The trees are just turning burnt orange and crimson, and the atmosphere tingles with a coolness about to settle over the city. They stop to rest as Frank uses the end of his T-shirt to wipe a stream of sweat from his forehead. He glances at a couple of school-aged boys in prep school uniforms racing by on skateboards. One of them tugs at his helmet strap and his tweed jacket, as he pushes vigorously with his right leg and whooshes past them.

"I want to mention something to you about Fletcher, Rachel," Frank says.

"Is everything OK?"

"Sure, yeah. He's fine and he likes his school," Frank says. "He just ... he mentioned to me that he wants to start going to school by himself. Taking the subway."

Rachel's eyes widen alarmingly, until Frank speaks up.

"Listen, I know what you're thinking and I'm on your side," Frank says. "I think it's too early for him to be out and about completely on his own."

"Oh, thank God!" Rachel says. "Because even through Fletcher is a smart kid, I can't see him all on his own like that in the city."

"Well, now, I think with a few exceptions here and there, short distances maybe, he should start to be more independent," Frank says. "He wants to get out more, and I think it's the right idea. But not just yet."

Frank doesn't mention that it's because Terrell would be lurking around. He doesn't want to alarm Rachel right before he leaves. Instead, he looks at Rachel in a flirty way, and pulls her by the waist closer.

"Well good," Rachel says. "I don't need my baby to be flying to coop just as I'm letting you go for six long, everlasting, interminable, torturous months!"

"You can handle it," Frank says. "I've seen you bring a martial arts expert to his knees, literally. You can handle it."

Rachel takes that day off to help Frank run errands and shop for a handful of personal hard-to-find comforts for his long stint way from home. Who knew peanut butter would be so expensive abroad? And after they return home, he makes sure to get a substantial jacket from the back of his closet, in case the night air in the Saudi Arabian climate proved to be chillier than expected over the next few months.

That evening, Frank is dragging his suitcase across their bedroom floor, straining and laboring to get it across the room. Normally, he would just pick it up and carry it, but Rachel is sitting atop the luggage, crossing her legs and her arms in a last-ditch protest. It didn't work.

"Are you going to help me pack?" Frank says, stopping to catch his breath.

"No," Rachel pouts. "Stay with me. Who cares about a bunch of stuffy diplomats over there?"

"Rachel! These guys serve the U.S. Show some appreciation and compassion," Frank says. "They need protection, too."

After a few minutes of trying, mostly failing, to get Rachel off his luggage, Frank stoops to scoop her up and place her in a chair. She hangs onto him for a few minutes, until he peels her hands away.

At last, Frank packs. He, Rachel and Fletcher spend all of the next day together, first at Coney Island, where they let Fletcher drag them all over, and they ride the Cyclone. They had booked a small hotel room downtown, where they change before heading to dinner at the rotating Top of the World restaurant in the World Trade Center. As the city lights twinkle and slowly move past them, Rachel keeps her fingers laced with Frank's the whole time. Once in a while, she dabs at the corner of her eyes with her napkin, or Frank wipes away a tear with his thumb. But she never lets him go, unless it is to let him go to the restroom or pay the bill.

When they get home from their 'day trip,' Frank carries Fletcher through the front door and up to his room, where Rachel kept him moving until he changes for bed.

Frank is waiting for Rachel when she's done. She walks into their bedroom on bare feet carrying her red strappy heels and her cashmere wrap in one hand as she shuts the door. In a short while, they shower together, make love a couple of times and spend an hour awake, talking.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come to the airport with you tomorrow?" Rachel says, looking up at Frank's face.

"You'll make an embarrassing scene, as always," Frank says. "I don't want to mess up this goodbye."

"You're always doing this," Rachel says. "Sleeping with me and leaving me! When's it going to stop?"

Frank pulls Rachel closer and tells her to stop worrying.

"I just need you to use that brain of yours, which I know is cooking up a ploy to make me stay," Frank says, holding her face. "This is an important gig. I'll make a lot of contacts from it. Write my own ticket, practically. We'll have the kind of life we both want, I promise."

"Okay. I guess," Rachel says. "What's the point in arguing anyway? Your mind is made up. Anyway, those blue eyes could make me do anything."

"Really? Anything?"

**Early the next morning**, Rachel is sleeping as a light goes on in their bathroom and quietly falls on her face. After several moments, she stirs, until Frank appears in the doorway, pulling a T-shirt over his head.

Rachel stretches lazily and rolls over to look at the clock.

"It's 5 o'clock already?"

"Yeah, it is. But go back to sleep, Rachel," Frank says. "It's early, and Tony is driving me to Newark Airport."

By now he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Rachel had scooted closer to him.

"I wish you could have booked a later flight, so I could make you breakfast," Rachel says. She sighs and flops back onto her pillow. "You know I can make a mean breakfast burrito."

"It's a date," Frank says. "I expect a custom-made burrito with all the works when I get home."

Frank leans over to kiss her goodbye, and then gets up to finish getting dressed. Rachel gets up, too, barely able to keep her eyes open as she pulls on some basic clothes. Fletcher is already up, making Frank's coffee. They sit with him as he drinks a cup of it, and nibbles on a coffee cake that Rachel had made the day before.

Then the front doorbell rings, and it's Tony, ready to drive Frank away. Fletcher gets up first, and hugs Frank tightly. Then he hands Frank his favorite baseball and says it's for luck. While he lets Tony in, Rachel is next. She hugs Frank slowly, then takes her time kissing him and telling him to be careful.

"I promise I'll be back before you know it," he says. "You'll be fine. Just watch your back, OK? Use your head. Tony will help you do that. I'll call you when I get there, and we'll stick to our calling schedule after that."

"A couple times a week isn't nearly enough," Rachel says. "Not by a long shot."

"Well, let's see how it goes first," Frank says. "And if you really, really need me, I'll come home. I promise."

After Rachel admonished Tony to get to the airport safely, and he grabs Frank's luggage, Frank turns around to hug Fletcher and kiss Rachel again. Then he leaves the house, quietly.

Rachel watches her car glide down the street, it's brake lights shining bright red at the end of the block. Then she watches it move of further into the city, until it turns and she can't see it anymore.

Fletcher runs up to his room and gets back into bed, while Rachel does the same. But before she gets back in, she goes over to Frank's bureau, where he left a few things behind. She pulls out one of his older plaid shirts, just a random on that she didn't even particularly like. But it still smelled like him and almost seemed to be molded to his slim athletic body.

She walks over to the bed and slides the shirt on over her night gown, then pulls the cover back from his side of the bed, and nestles down there until she falls asleep.

* * *

_In the next installment, Rachel makes sure apiece of her makes it to Saudi Arabia with Frank, she also throws herself into work to get through the first few weeks without him, and an uncomfortable story hits the papers._


	11. Worth A Thousand Words

**Hi shippers,**

**Frank and Rachel are back for a half chapter. This time, we eavesdrop on their first long distance call since Frank has settled into his apartment in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.**

* * *

**Frank and Rachel's kitchen**

**New York**

**Sunday morning**

**10 a.m**.

Rachel and Fletcher sit at the kitchen table, dressed smartly for a noon church service. Rachel sighs and checks her watch. As soon as she lifts her coffee cup to take a sip, the phone rings. She swiftly puts it down and gets up to snatch the phone out of the base on the wall. She interrupts it in the middle of the second ring.

**Rachel:** Hello? Yep, yes, we accept the charges. (She stretches her hand out to Fletcher, who comes to her side as she lets Frank's collect call come in.) Frank?! Hi baby!

**Frank: **Hi Rachel. What's up, gorgeous?

**Rachel:** We're just … waiting for you to call. Well, actually, we just finished breakfast and we were waiting to talk to you before going to church.

**Frank:** (Laughs quietly.) I wonder what that's going to be like.

**Rachel:** What do you mean by that? Hold on, Frank. (Fletcher has become anxious to talk to Frank, and is reaching for the phone. Rachel, meanwhile tries to shush him and tells him to be patient. This fails, as she eventually gives him the phone.)

**Fletcher:** As-salaam alaikum, Frank!

**Frank:** Hey, Fletcher. Wa-Alaikum-Salaam!

**Fletcher:** I learned that so we could speak some Arabic.

**Frank:** It's pretty good. But I think we should stick to our English.

**Fletcher:** OK. Are you having a good time so far? What's it like in the dessert? Can you ride a camel yet?

Rachel tries to get the phone, but Fletcher pulls away. Frank answers his questions patiently, then becomes curious about Rachel.

**Frank:** Listen, buddy, I don't want to make you all too late for church. Let me talk to your mother.

**Fletcher:** OK. Stay away from the bad guys, Frank. Mom says if you don't, she'll get you herself.

**Frank:** I will.

**Fletcher:** Umm … bye, Frank.

**Frank:** Bye, Fletcher. We'll talk later this week.

Fletcher hands the phone to his mother, then runs into the dining room, where Tony is finishing his bagel and coffee. Rachel watches him leave as she holds the receiver close to her cheek. She lowers herself slowly into a chair.

**Rachel:** Hi baby. Miserable yet?

Frank and Rachel talk for 10 minutes, as she updates him on goings on around the house over the last couple of days.

**Rachel:** And last but not least, your fiancé is a wreck.

**Frank:** Honey, it's only been two days.

**Rachel:** With 175 left to go. The longest separation eh-verrr.

Frank sighs and settles further into his place on the couch in his apartment.

**Frank:** Are you trying out for another movie? A bit dramatic, aren't we?

**Rachel:** I'm not being dramatic at all. Anyway, I don't want to talk about that. So … how's life without me. I bet it's really quiet over there.

**Frank:** Yes, very.

(Rachel flushes at his flat-toned answer. She is used to his matter-of-fact answers, but he sounded very flip and almost content.)

**Rachel:** A-a-nd … no craziness of any kind.

**Frank:** None whatsoever. Just like my bachelor days.

**Rachel:** Oh.

The line is silent for a few moments.

**Frank:** Rachel, I went through my luggage and came across an interesting package. A bunch of pictures of a really attractive lady. Nobody would guess that she's a church-going mother of a 10-year-old boy with legs like that. And poses like that.

**Rachel:** Did you like them?

**Frank:** I did. They were beautiful. Especially of the ones with you wearing my birthday present.

Rachel giggles, covering her mouth.

**Frank:** I think they made an impression on the chaplain, too.

Rachel jumps out of her chair and barely keeps her voice down.

**Rachel:** You let the preacher see my ss?!

**Frank:** It was an accident. I was going through a bunch of envelopes with important papers that I brought with me. I was getting ready for a staff meeting, and he happened to be there and volunteered to help me find something. I asked him to open one of the envelopes …

**Rachel:** Oh my G*d, Frank …

**Frank:** … and there was my fiancé, the very same way that she came into the world.

**Rachel:** Did he see ALL of them?! I'm going to h$ll.

**Frank:** No, sweetheart. The chaplain didn't see all of your shots. Only one. And you're not going to hell, only church, which is where you need to be to pray for forgiveness. Rachel, did you at least get the negatives …?

**Rachel:** Of course I did. And anyway, the guy who took them …

**Frank:** Couldn't you find a robot to take these pictures?

Rachel senses that Frank is confused, or angry. Perhaps he is conflicted between gritting his teeth and grinning mischievously. In any case, she hears him gulping some kind of beverage and then sighing.

**Frank:** I'm not angry. Just a little embarrassed. I felt like I had to explain to the guy that you're my wife, not my live-in girlfriend.

**Rachel:** You didn't need to do that. Preachers be getting it just like everybody else. Ours had eight kids. Anyway, I just want you to think about me while you're away.

**Frank:** It worked alright. There is no way I can forget the ice cream parlor shots. Of course, I'd rather the chaplain not have a certain drop-dead gorgeous, former beauty queen turned singer-slash-actress on his mind while he's being fruitful and multiplying.

**Rachel:** Multiplying? Isn't the chaplain an old man or something? Like 60—

**Frank:** He's only about 40, Rachel. A little older than me. Do I seem like an old man?

**Rachel:** No! Old dudes don't have your moves, Frank.

**Frank:** I'll take that as a compliment. (Frank sets his glass down on the side table, then picks up a stack of glossy photos and puts them in his lap.) Especially when I look at the ones of you in the outdoors ones in particular. Are you supposed to be camping by a hot spring? Wonder what gave you that idea …

**Rachel:** From you, remember?

They talk for another 15 minutes until Rachel says that it's time for her and Fletcher to go to church. She does so unwillingly, whining about the number of days that will pass until they talk again.

**Frank:** Well, say an extra prayer for me.

**Rachel:** I will.

**Frank:** And about five extras for yourself.

Rachel simply pouts as she says goodbye and makes long, loud smooching noises.

**Frank:** Rachel, behave yourself! You're about to go to church. Try to avoid giving _that_ minister your bedroom eyes.

**Rachel:** Very funny. Bye, baby. I love you, and come home tomorrow.

**Frank:** I love you, too. And we'll talk on _Wednesday_.

Rachel hangs up the phone, finishes her coffee and carries the mug to the sink. She runs her hand along she sleeve of her designer suit, which though tailored, is not strictly conservative. When she turns around, Tony is standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a serious look on his face.

Rachel steps away from the sink, toward him, her eyes darting from his face to the newspaper in his hand.

"What's the matter, Tony?"

He takes a breath and places the newspaper on the kitchen table.

"That showed up on the doorstep this morning," Tony says. "I hid it from Fletcher while I finished my breakfast and you were on the phone."

Rachel picks up the paper and her chest moves up and down as she scans the page. There are no photos, but her name is in bold letters, embedded in a story portraying her as a clueless mother with loose virtues.

"This is … ridiculous," she says. "I'm not _trying_ to be a good mother, I _am_ a good mother!"

"Listen, honey. Anybody who knows you understands that," Tony says.

"But this makes me out to be a flirty party girl who doesn't know what the heck she's doing with her son," Rachel says, looking at Tony. "And since when did I ever dress and act the way they're saying?"

Rachel walks the paper to the fireplace and throws it next to the stack of logs.

"It's supposed to get colder tonight," she says. "We can use this for kindling."

Tony walks over to Rachel and puts his hand on her shoulder.

"Honey, don't worry about this trash," he says. "Nobody with half a brain really believes the gossip reporters, anyway."

"Nice try, Tony, but I know you're a smart, caring guy and you saw it," she says. "Things like that stick, even if they are lies."

Rachel sticks to her earlier plan to attend church. But first, she runs upstairs to Frank's office to check the contents of the safe in there. She knows that she left the negatives of her "care-package" photos under tight wraps, but after reading the story in the Post, she's jolted. She has to ensure that only Frank ever sees those pictures.

After accounting for all of the negatives from her photo shoots, she goes back downstairs. Then she, Tony and Fletcher leave for church. As they walk through the sanctuary to their seats, she keeps her sunglasses on and looks straight ahead. What Tony said was probably true, that people won't believed the story in the _Post_. Still, the whispers and stares follow her all the way to the front pew. She can't help wondering if people are interested because they were star struck as usual, or if early that morning they had read about the fictional vignettes, the ones where she dressed provocatively almost everyday, was involved in a tryst with Frank in the headmaster's office at Fletcher's school, and had trouble adjusting to being a Parents' Guild mother among the East Coast old money crowd. In any case, she crosses her ankles tightly as she sits in her seat, keeps her eyes on the carpet throughout most of the service, and tugs at her skirt several times during the sermon.

* * *

_In the next installment: Rachel looks for answers about wo leaked the story to the Post; Terrell makes himself useful; and Frank gets a tip on a project he has been working on for more than a year. _


	12. A Strong Shoulder

**_Hi Franchel shippers. This time, it's only been a month since I checked in on Frank and Rachel. LOL. Well, Frank's not home yet, but it won't stop him from checking up on our girl. Rachel just needs to make sure that she chooses her allies wisely, so that she doesn't give Frank too much cleaning up to do when he returns home._ **

* * *

Two weeks later, another unflattering story appears in the same tabloid. This one was worse than the first, promising "more details about Rachel's steamy encounter with Frank" in the headmaster's office at Fletcher' s school.

After Rachel sees the story that afternoon, she herds Julia and Sy into Frank's office and shuts the door.

"Well, how did this one make the papers?" Rachel shakes the _Post_ at them. They both fidget in their chairs, under direct fire from the sunlight pouring through the window and Rachel's aggressive questions. From where she's perched on the desk, the sunbeams appear like spotlights backing her up on a minimalist stage setting. Or an interrogation room.

"Look honey, that sort of trash is really beneath me. It's beneath us. You know that," Sy explains, reaching over to rest his hand on Rachel's knee.

Rachel slides off of the desk and rebuffs Sy's touch. She walks behind the desk and throws the newspaper down, but doesn't sit. She just rubs her temples and lets out a long, loud grunt between her teeth.

"Apparently it is not beneath us," she says, finally. "Someone in this household has been talking to the press. The tabloids, of all things! This is the second story since Frank left two weeks ago."

Sy sits back and glances at Julia, who clears her throat and speaks up. Before she talks, she gestures for Rachel to hand her the newspaper. She stands up, straightening her suit, and draws a red pen out of the cup on the desk. As she talks, she circles spots in the story that might yield clues as to who is feeding stories to the press.

"If we look at this quote from the supposed 'source,' and this part here, about you and Fletcher at parent and teacher might, it all suggests that someone is following you around and watching your moves," Julia says. "Maybe they're even paying waiters, shop girls and that sort of thing to tip them off on where you go, who you eat with and what you say."

Rachel listens closely, nodding every now and then. Julia makes sense, but then Rachel draws the newspaper back to point out a paragraph about Christiana.

"What about this?" Then Rachel picks up the paper and reads aloud:

_Rachel _says_ she's a family woman, but her actual family has been feeling neglected lately. An inside source says the singer, whose superstar status is lighting up a revival of Porgy & Bess, blew off her cousin out in New Jersey for Columbus Day weekend to go shopping instead. "Christiana was so hurt," says the source. "And she's hoping that Rachel remembers them for Thanksgiving!" _

"Everyone on the inside knows that was a wedding planning trip. I went upstate to visit a florist," Rachel says. "And anyway Christiana joined me a day later! We spent the rest of the long weekend up there with the kids. Did they put that part in? No!"

With a whap sharp enough to echo through the room, Rachel flings the newspaper down and glares at Julia. She starts demanding answers. How did the reporters know she was going to be out of town? Who tipped them off that the kids would be with them? Information about the kids is supposed to be protected!

"And what about Frank?"

"What _about_ Frank, honey?" Sy says, walking around the desk to Rachel.

"He doesn't want a single detail about this wedding out there. At all!" Rachel says. "It's in here which florist we visited, and which town we stayed in. And where Fletcher was. He hates all that stuff!"

Sy starts to rub Rachel's shoulders and asks her to calm down. Meanwhile, Julia says she'll do her best to clamp down on the reporters there and anyone else that she works with. But she has another request.

"Did you, um? Did you still want me to say 'yes' to that classical radio station for an interview?" Julia says.

Rachel shakes her head, and then shrugs.

"I still have to think about it," Rachel says. She's trying to relax as Sy rubs her neck and talks softly to her, but his imprecision and constant talking only remind her of how much she misses Frank. She pats his hand gratefully and tosses him a pleasant smile before focusing on Julia.

"Actually, no, Julia," she says. "Tell them I'm booked on the date that they wanted. And if they pitch another date, tell them you'll have to see if you can move some things around. But no guarantees."

Julia excuses herself and leaves the office. After she shuts the door, Rachel and Sy talk about her plans for Thanksgiving. He's pushing for her to do a Christmas concert special in London.

"Sy, I don't know. Christmas is a huge tourist season here in New York," she says. "I think the producer wants me to do a few shows to give audiences 'something to remember' while they're here."

"Just think about it, honey," Sy says. But Rachel can only think about what she'll say to Frank the next time she speaks to him. He arranges to get certain newspapers in Saudi Arabia, and chances are his assistants would show him what's being written about his fiancé while he's away. What would he say and how would he react after reading those stories? His moody silence could be absolutely searing, especially when he mutters under his breath or punches things. She would almost prefer that he shout and get it over with. Another pang of loneliness grips Rachel hard, and she hugs herself, trying to feel the same closeness and protection that Frank always offers. But it's no use. The space feels frigid and airy, unlike the consistent balminess that Frank always seems to fill a room with. She would give anything for that broad, warm smile of his, and that firm shoulder to rest all her problems on.

And then another trouble cropped up to make her miss him even more. It started when Tony opened the door to the office.

"Rachel, Fletcher just called from the school," Tony says, quickly glancing at Sy and Julia. "He wants to take the subway home with one of his friends."

Rachel groans. This again? If only her precious boy would stop trying to be so independent and take trains far away from her!

"Rachel, I get it," Tony smiles. "But he would walk to the subway with his three friends. Then all four of them would ride about five stops. He would be the last one to get off the train, but that's only one stop after his last friend gets off. I would meet him right there at the station, Sweetheart. Promise."

"I don't know…," Rachel groans, remembering her last conversation with Frank on the subject.

"Oh, come on, honey," Sy says. "Fletcher's a smart kid. Even I can see that. Sounds like he'll be surrounded by people the whole time. And it's Friday anyway. Let him kick the weekend off with a little city excursion of his own, eh?"

"You pro-mise to be there, Tony?"

"Absolutely, doll," Tony says. "I wouldn't want that pretty face of yours to worry."

"OK. Tell him yes," Rachel slumps into Frank's chair. "But please remind him not to act like a brawler. And tell him to give pregnant women and seniors his seat on the train, even if they don't ask. And tell him ... wait, I'll just come downstairs and talk to him myself."

She dismisses Julia and Sy, and then follows Tony downstairs.

But Rachel should have worried, because as Fletcher and his friends set off from school toward the train, someone fell into place behind them. He stayed a quarter of a block behind them all the way into the subway, and got onto the same train, same car. He looked down, reading his book from under a baseball cap the entire ride, as Fletcher and his friends dropped their book bags on the floor talked excitedly about baseball and next spring's Little League tryouts.

It is Terrell, and he can't help but grin as he watches Fletcher yank at his necktie and let his shirt dangle sloppily over the waist of his gray dress pants.

After two of Fletcher's friends exit, leaving him with just one friend, Terrell makes his move. He gets up and approaches the boys nonchalantly, pretending to read a subway map serving as a bookmark. Then he slid into the row of seats directly opposite from them and feigned surprise.

"Hey! Look who's out and about town!"

Fifteen minutes later, Terrell and Fletcher are swapping stories about the other's day. He talks Fletcher up, who introduces him to his friend, Charles.

"And Charles this is my father, Terrell," Fletcher says. Terrell straightens his back as Fletcher stresses 'my father.' Terrell thought he detected a glint of pride in Fletcher's voice, and relief. Had he wanted to introduce Terrell to his friends before? Introducing Frank as a step dad was correct, but it was a bit underwhelming, Terrell thought. One never knew whether step fathers were good or bad on a first meeting, or how long they would stay around. And a 'dad' was a few degrees warmer. It conferred closeness without a blood tie between them, which is what Fletcher and Frank had, only to be formalized by a wedding next year. But an unequivocal father was the supreme title. It was plain, simple, and judging by the common curve of their chins and charming twinkle in their eyes, obvious who Fletcher belonged to.

Terrell chats up the boys, patiently waiting until his opening comes to talk Fletcher into getting off the train with his friend, instead of continuing on by himself.

"What would be the harm?" Terrell says. "Why not let your father walk you the rest of the way home? I'll even carry your book bag."

Fletcher rolls his eyes shyly.

"At least your Dad wants to walk you home and carry your stuff," Charles says. "Mine is always in Geneva, or London. The only reason we're all going to Whistler for Christmas this year is he has business part of the time out there."

"Yeah well his step dad — to be — is all the way in Saudi Arabia," Terrell pipes up. "It's gonna be pretty hard for anyone to have a great Christmas like that, huh?"

"Yeah, I hadn't thought of that!" Charles smiles. "I got you beat!" Charles playfully punches Fletcher and dashes off of the train as the doors slide open. Fletcher gives chase, followed by Terrell who tells the boys not to knock over any old ladies on their way out.

After they see Charles off at his building, Terrell and Fletcher amble along slowly, enjoying the last burst of a lingering summer, stopping to look in store windows or to casually point out oddities of city life. They talk about his school, his subjects, friends and then Fletcher lights up about the prospect of Little League tryouts the next spring.

"Listen, I can help you get ready for tryouts," Terrell says.

"You can?!"

"Of course," Terrell says. "Your old man was all-state in high school. But I dropped baseball to focus on track in college. Where I met your mother. She ever tell you that story?"

Fletcher shakes his head.

"Well, maybe sometime I will," he says.

As they approach the subway stop where Fletcher was supposed to get off, they spot Tony. Fletcher calls out and waves, and as Tony waves back, his face grows stone cold. He hastily walks toward them, hoping to divert Terrell away from the house. He approaches them in short time.

"What's going on here?"

"Hey Tony, my Dad met me on the train," Fletcher says. "He was just heading downtown and saw me and my friends and said he would walk me home."

"Interesting way to spend an afternoon riding a train, following kids, don't you think?"

"I don't follow kids, OK? I just take an interest in the ones with my blood," Terrell says.

"For a change," Tony says, reaching for Fletcher's book bag. "I'll take that off your hands."

"I'd rather give it to Rachel myself," Terrell says. "Anyway, I have unfinished business to discuss with her."

"I don't think so," Tony says. "First the flowers, then the pool, now following Fletcher on the subway and trying to come to the house. I think you'll need to wait until Rachel says it's OK for you to be around."

"Until she says so, or the puppet master Frank?"

"Watch your mouth, Terrell," Tony says, snatching Fletcher's book bag and eyeing Terrell closely.

"Why don't you watch it?" Terrell says. "Who are you anyway? Not the father, the guardian or anything. You're in no position to tell me when I can or cannot see my own child."

"But your record does," Tony says, making Terrell step back a little. "Your rap sheet and your track of record leaving that lady in tears so much."

Fletcher has been watching intently, hoping that the two men don't explode into an angry confrontation in the street.

"What is a rap sheet?"

"When it comes to your father, a rap sheet is a work of fiction," Terrell says. But Fletcher still looks confused.

Tony ends the argument by taking Fletcher's hand.

"But I want Dad to come to dinner, please Tony," Fletcher pleads.

"Your mom says no," Tony says, pointing out that Rachel doesn't even know that Terrell is around. "It's not the right time. Maybe another day, or another place. But not tonight and not at the house."

Tony prevails after a few more minutes, then guides Fletcher away from Terrell. When they get home, Fletcher runs to Rachel.

"Mom! Can Dad stay for dinner? Please! He made sure I got home safe on the subway! He's waiting outside. Please?!"

Rachel does not allow it, but after dinner she does call Terrell and agrees to meet him for dessert, again over Tony's objection.

"This time I'll tell Frank all about it myself," Rachel says. "Tony please don't worry. And you don't wait around for me. You should get yourself home and rest easy, please. Fletcher will be fine here with the sitter."

"Rachel …" Tony shakes his head. "That guy thinks he's slick. Watch his every step. I promised Frank I would help steer you right."

"It's only right to thank him, Tony," Rachel says. "I won't be long."

A short time later, Rachel and Terrell are sitting around an outdoor bistro table near her townhouse. She's eating something sweet and he is having a coffee. They've picked a table under the shade of an elm that is stubbornly hanging onto its leaves. They talk pleasantly amid the clattering of plates, chairs scraping the pavement and people chattering like bees in a hive. Sara Vaughan floats through the last crimson leaves in the trees, while Rachel watches people churn up and down the sidewalks, moving in and out of shop and restaurant doorways. Terrell begins by extending thanks to Rachel.

"What are you thanking me for?" Rachel says.

"For not flipping out just because I saw my son," Terrell says. "I knew you could be reasonable without your old hired gun around to make you paranoid and afraid of me."

Although the air is slightly crisp, Terrell has taken of his jacket and left it slung across the back. He leans forward on his elbows against the table, watching Rachel's face. She tries not to watch his, particularly now that he has a handsome covering of one-day-old facial hair, and he's wearing a crisp white t-shirt that clings to his toned arms and body. She smiles and shakes her head, muttering something about overly competitive men.

"You know, Rachel," Terrell says reaching for her arm. "I can tell you're stressed out. For whatever reason. I can actually see your left shoulder tense up, just like it did before mid-terms and when you were figuring out how to tell your parents that Fletcher was on the way."

Rachel uses her fork to rake another piece of lemon cake into her mouth. Although their corner of the bistro is quiet, she doesn't want to speak too loudly.

"I'm fine. I just …" she shrugs and rubs her own shoulders. " I feel like a single mom again. No Nikki, no parents and Christiana is all the way in the next state. The next five and a half months are going to be … rough."

While she was talking, Terrell moves his chair a little closer, quietly. Before she knows it, he's rubbing her neck and shoulder, expertly pressing his thumb deep into her muscle and up her neck. It makes her smile. He always knew that shoulder better than anyone, and although Frank is miles ahead of anyone with his technique, Terrell's hand just seemed to naturally remember where to go.

It feels almost too good.

"You know what, Terrell? I have to get back," Rachel squirms away from him and self-consciously looks him over. "Thanks for walking Fletcher home, but um … well, that's part of what Tony is here for."

Terrell's jaws clench as he drags his hand slowly across her shoulder and down her arm. Seeing this, Rachel hurries to explain.

"I have to respect what Frank wants," Rachel says. Then she explains about the stories that have appeared recently in the gossip rags. "I know Frank would want me to keep a tight lid on things. And even on a good day, this here. Me meeting up with you would … just be too much for him, you know?"

"I don't get it. Fletcher and me had a good time. And I brought him some safe," Terrell signals for the waiter to bring the check. "If you weren't with Frank. If he wasn't in the picture at all, then none of this would be a problem."

"Aren't you listening, Terrell?" Rachel rolls her head back on her shoulders and tenses up again. "Someone is selling me out to the press. While Frank isn't here. I need to figure out who that is."

Terrell flinches, seeing Rachel become agitated again. Then he switches tactics.

"Look, if I were you, I would look in my own house to find the leak in that PR system of yours," he says, taking the check from the waiter. "You say Sy is a big publicity hound?"

"Yeah, but he's more along the lines of Barbara, Oprah and Robin Leech, not the tabs and the paparazzi."

"How do you know he isn't doing anything on the side? Or that other chick, what's her name?"

"Julia," Rachel says. "But she's strictly business too. I kind of trust her."

Terrell asks Rachel more questions, about everything from the types of computers her staff uses and phones, too.

"If I were you, I'd make everyone use company-issued phones and computers at all times while doing business for you, and monitor what they do," Terrell says.

Rachel watches Terrell's muscles twitch as he sifts through a substantial wad of cash and slides several bills into the portfolio for the waiter to pick up. Then he picks up his coffee and takes a last swig, his Adam's apple rising and falling as he swallows. Rachel had forgotten how much she liked to nuzzle in his neck at nights.

"Only a matter of time before you find the mole then," he says, placing his cup on the table.

"I hadn't thought of that before," Rachel says.

"Oh, so Fabulous Frank hasn't thought of everything, huh? I'm genuinely surprised," he says, widening his eyes and coming around to pull her chair out.

They leave the restaurant quietly, weaving between the tables and drawing eyes to them. Perhaps it is Rachel's cap, pulled down over half her face despite the night time, or maybe it is Terrell, who looks chiseled and ready for the cover of a magazine. Most people whisper and wonder who this attractive couple is, and the tittering follows them out to the sidewalk and start up the street.

They walk for a block. Terrell gathers up Rachel's slender fingers in his hands as they cross a couple of streets, but she prefers to wrap her sweater closer around her as they make their way up the stretches of pavement. She stops two blocks away from her house.

"I should really finish the trip by myself," Rachel says. "My place is just up there."

"Not a chance," Terrell says, pulling Rachel closer. "I don't think beautiful women ought to go anywhere on their own. It isn't right."

Rachel slides out of Terrell's arms, which were more solid than she had remembered. They were also incredibly warm. But then again, when was the last time she was in those arms? The idea of letting Terrell hold onto her makes her flush, and despite the cooling night air, she fans herself with one hand.

"It's perfectly alright," Rachel says, clearing her throat. "I'm, I'm engaged. I'm an engaged woman and Frank trusts me, too. If you want me to let you any closer, you have to be all business, Terrell."

"Whatever you say, 'engaged woman,'" Terrell says, kissing and patting one of Rachel's hands before letting it go.

Two weeks later, and a full month after Frank had left, Rachel follows through on Terrell's advice. She buys a couple of IBMs and assigns one to Julia, another to Sy. Amy will work from Frank's computer whenever she has to. They aren't cheap, especially with Internet, email and tracking services. But she begins to sleep better. Because ever since she spoke to Terrell and followed through on the advice, the worst of the stories had stopped.

**But on the other side of the world**, practically, another story is brewing. One night, Frank gets on the phone at an extremely early hour, and talks to Evan, the man who was beginning to date Nikki in the weeks before she died.

While helping Rachel pack up Nikki's room for the move out of her old mansion, Frank had found the guy's number and asked Rachel about it. Once Rachel explained who he was and that he wrote software, Frank decided to keep Evan's number, in case he might need the guy. He did. Once Frank explained that it was Nikki's ex-husband who hired Portman, the assassin who killed her and almost got Rachel, he was more than willing to help track him down.

"So far, Frank, I traced him to Portland, Oregon, but not beyond that," Evan says. "He seems to prefer to rely on cash to live, but he does have a credit card that he's been using more frequently."

"Interesting. On what?" Frank brings one leg on top of the other and leans further back into the sofa cushions.

"Surveillance equipment. Cameras," Evan says. "He hasn't bought a lot of it, though. I'll try to dig a little deeper to see exactly what he's been buying. Maybe that'll give you some ideas on what his next move is."

"Well, as long as he stays in one spot, far away from Rachel, I'll be OK," Frank says. "That should give me a better chance of closing in on him."

"Well, you just let me know how I can help you, and I will," Evan says. After a pause, he ventures a question. "How are Rachel and Fletcher, anyway? I feel strange asking sometimes, because they didn't even know me."

"Well, that's true, but you did send flowers, and Rachel remembers Nikki talking about you," Frank says. "They're OK. They are adjusting to life without her. It wasn't easy that first year, and I still catch Rachel staring off into space sometimes. I can tell she's thinking about Nikki. But she has find memories, so she'll be OK."

Evan puffs loudly, sounding relieved. He repeats his promise to assist Frank, and they hang up. Then Frank picks up his glass of water and walks to his bedroom. While getting ready for bed, he wonders if he should tell Rachel everything that he's been up to. The time is coming, he thinks, when he'll have to tell her that her ex-brother-in-law hired the assassin to take her out.

But not tonight. He'll be able to close in on the guy soon enough, and his foreign assignment is going well. In fact, Frank thinks, if he can stabilize the situation in Saudi Arabia, maybe he can tie up his project early and head home. Just as long as Rachel plays it smart the way she is supposed to, things should work out fine.

* * *

_In the next installment, an incident at Fletcher's school pushes Rachel to clamp down on leaks at home. _ _Rachel thinks she has figured out where the stories have been coming from, and a surprise gig brings Rachel to London._


	13. Bleak Friday

_**Hi shippers,**_

_**Well look at this: An update less than a month after the previous chapter! Things are really getting tense in Rachel's home, as the holidays ramp up, her work schedule becomes more crowded, and she has to make a tough decision about a staff member. **_

* * *

Thanksgiving week, 1993

In the days leading up to the long Thanksgiving weekend, more than one pot was stirring at Rachel's house in New York. Terrell kept on jockeying for an invitation to her house, where she planned on hosting the family dinner. She was also running out of ways to dodge his advances. He always contrived a way to find himself near her, at least when Tony wasn't around. She tried to impress on him that he was in her life as a friend now, even to tell herself that he wasn't that good-looking, but his interest in Fletcher, and genuine helpfulness in watching for the press leak kept her reliant on him in some ways.

Sy had convinced her to fly to London to film a Christmas special, and got her to commit to flying out on the Sunday morning after the Thanksgiving break.

_"Look honey, your image has been taking a few hits lately," he had said during a lunch at Tavern on the Green on Monday. "A Christmas special might go a long way to restoring some of that "good girl" charm and appeal the public likes." _

_"Sy, I have never tried to live up to that phony image," Rachel answered grumpily over her salad. "Everyone knows I have a dating history, and with whom. So what if I party it up now and then, or if I fall out with these stuck up rich bitches?" _

_ "Some of the 'good girl' stuff is true, Rachel," Sy said. "Come on. Between rehearsals, sound checks, performance and appearances, we can have you in and out of London in a week if you like."_

_"Appearances?"_

_Eventually, Rachel groaned her consent. Mainly because Sy could be a force of will when he wanted to be, and resisting Sy was more trouble than it was worth. Besides, the brisk London fall weather and distance from Terrell would go a long way to clearing her head, she thought. _

Tuesday and Wednesday pass in a blur, as Rachel prepares for the feast at her house. She finalizes the guest list, the caterer's contract, supervises rental pickups and even helps marinate some of the meats. During a shopping trip to a local farm, Rachel's cell phone rings loudly from her handbag. She lugs it out of her bag, pulls up the antennae, and starts the call. In this phase, Terrell makes a last-ditch effort to get invited, but Rachel stands firm and doesn't extend an invitation. After that, she picks heads to the airport to pick up Herb, so that he can spend the next week and a half in New York – the first half while Rachel is there, and he planned to stay on for the next week during Rachel's stint in London.

On the actual feast day, Rachel's house is alive with the aromas of a roasting turkey, a spicy vegetable stew and other delectable potluck dishes that Christiana had contributed. The kids hole themselves up in Fletcher's room playing video games and take breaks to romp noisily through the house.

Rachel finds Herb and gently guides him to Frank's office, where they place a call to Saudi Arabia. Father and son chat for 10 minutes, while Rachel summon Fletcher. During his turn with Frank, the boy enthusiastically explains what is going on in the off-season for the Yankees and Dodgers. After Fletcher gives the phone to Rachel again, she plopped into Frank's chair and spun around, closing her eyes and spinning a vision of being with Frank overseas, in his arms again.

"It's finally starting to get genuinely cold in New York," Rachel says. "I kind of like it. There is something about fall fashions and chunky sweaters. And New York, as you know Frank, is very fashionable."

"Yeah, I know," he laughs. G*d, he sounds so dreamy, Rachel sighs. Rachel snatches a throw pillow and hugs it tightly, grinning like a 10th grader finally getting her crush on the phone for a good long talk.

"So Amy sent out the save-the-date notices for the wedding," Rachel says, and fiddles with the fringe on the pillow. "I didn't give an exact location. It just says 'New York'."

Frank grunts, and Rachel can hear him shaking his head through the phone line.

"And Reverend Carter says the sanctuary is ours for that day," she goes on. That's when Frank makes a strong, definite noise of protest. But he doesn't go on, just decides to change the subject.

"So what else is for dinner?"

"Jerked pork shoulder, from Christiana, fish soup, green salad, dirty rice, and basmati rice," Rachel says, picking out tomatoes and some of her favorite spices from the scents wafting from the kitchen.

"Sounds very exotic,'" Frank says. "And spicy. Like someone I know."

That sets off a spate of giggles with Rachel, until she remembers to tell Frank that the fish recipe is hers.

"Oh, and you're proud of yourself for that?" Frank says. "My mother cooked all our meals every day when I was growing up, young lady. You have a tough act to follow with you're twice-a-week kitchen tourist stuff."

"Very funny," Rachel says. "When you get back, I'm going to fatten you up. Watch."

"That's fair," Frank says. "I'll probably knock you up. So you with your pregnancy and me with my gut. Sounds like a prosperous family to me."

They talk for a few more minutes, until Frank says it is time for him to go. At that, Rachel perks up.

"Frank, just a few more minutes!" Rachel says, giggling into her hand. "I had the best, best dream about you the other night."

"Oh yeah? Spill it!" Frank laughs, and entertains Rachel for a few more minutes.

After Christiana's husband blesses the food, the dinner passes noisily. Herb and Christiana's father enthrall the crowd with stories of their college's rivalry, which lasts well into dessert. Several of the kids gravitate to Tony, and a few family members tool around on Rachel's piano, laughing and challenging each other to come up with progressions and riffs. While the main table is being cleared for dessert and board games, Rachel and Christiana talk genially in the living room about missing Frank and keeping Terrell at bay.

"Eldon told me that Terrell says you've been seeing each other again," Christiana says.

"What! That's crazy," Rachel says. "No! I mean, we haven't actually seen each other in a week to begin with."

"What I mean is, have you seen Terrell socially lately?"

"Sure, but only about little things," Rachel says. "A dessert to say thanks for walking Fletcher home …"

"You could have done that over the phone," Christiana points out, lifting Rachel's fine bone china teacup to her lips for a sip. "And what about the time you all went out to a wine bar? Eldon told me about that one too. He was really smug about it. Like Terrell was gaining ground or something. Rachel, tell me what's going on."

Rachel swallows a mouthful of tea and sets her cup and saucer down on the side table near her.

"Look, I'm not strong like other women, who can just be OK with their fiancés halfway around the world for so long," Rachel says. "It's so lonely when Frank's gone. I hate it!"

'I understand that," Christiana says. "If I had to be separated from my husband for six months because of work, well, I don't know how that I would last! I could see myself showing up on his doorstep with the kids out of the blue."

They laugh for a few moments, until Christiana resumes.

"But Frank has put such a smile on your face," she says. "He's the best thing for you now. Please don't let yourself get confused or do anything to … disappoint him, OK?"

Rachel nods and picks up her tea again, taking a sip as she watches her staff tidy up her home after the meal.

"I can promise you that," she says.

On Black Friday, when Rachel would normally have looked forward to Christmas shopping like everyone else, bleakness hangs over New York that keeps her indoors in the morning. She gets up and dresses early, makes a pot of coffee, and has a small cup for herself. Then she sits down at her piano and opens a book of sheet music, where she has been writing a new song. She practices a few bars until she hears the phone in the kitchen ringing. It is Terrell.

"Good morning, Beautiful," he says cheerfully. Surprisingly cheerfully, Rachel thinks, considering he was snubbed for yesterday's festivities. After exchanging pleasantries, Terrell continues, "I hope you are wide awake, because I have some um … news."

"I'm all for useful news, go ahead," Rachel says, pulling her robe closer around her.

"I have found your mole," Terrell says. "Are you ready to hear who it is?"

"Of course I want to know!" Rachel stands up straight and grasps the phone with both hands. "Just let it out."

"It's Julia, on your P.R. team," Terrell says. The news makes Rachel's face flush and burn, her hands go clammy and her stomach tighten. Julia? Selling stories to the tabloids and tipping off the paparazzi to catch her out in clubs, restaurants, out with Terrell?

"But … h-how … how did this all happen?" Rachel sits down at the kitchen table and rests her forehead in her hand. Julia. Who seemed to buttoned down and business like. Who was sometimes the voice of reason when Amy was difficult to manage? Julia Canon? "Was there a mistake, Terrell?"

"I'm afraid not, doll," he proceeds. Then he explains that after checking through Julia and Sy's computer as Rachel asked, he found several email exchanges from her to editors and reporters at tabloids. Some of then detailed Rachel's plans for certain days, while others arranged for her to receive payment through a third party, to throw Rachel's management company off track.

Rachel thanks Terrell, asks him to send his findings over via messenger, then says goodbye. The more she thinks about it, the angrier she becomes. Of all people! That two-faced liar, she says out loud, slapping the table. Then she snatches up the receiver again and tracks down Julia, Sy, Tony, Diane and Amy summoning all of them to her townhouse for that afternoon. Then she storms upstairs to get dressed for the day.

Rachel is able to keep up a pleasant enough attitude with Frank and Fletcher, but as soon as they leave the house for an afternoon excursion to a local video store, the messenger shows up. That's when Rachel's mood darkens. She signs for the package, tears it open, sending part of the flap gliding onto her polished teak floors, then starts to read. Terrell was right: There, in the printouts, were frequent messages between Julia and a couple of editors at daily newspapers. And they were the sordid publications too; not only did they have that cheap ink that blackened the hands once people picked them up and paged through, but they also had garish cartoons and outlandish headlines. Rachel's temper flared over and over as she saw how emails went from Julia to reporters, photographers or editors, then she saw the headline and first paragraph of the stories that came out of the emails.

"I'd like to see her lie her way out of this!" Rachel says.

One by one, everyone arrives at the house. All are perplexed, and Sy is a little annoyed that he had to end a date early on his day off.

"This is important," Rachel says, as she waves everyone over to the dining room table. Rachel watches as everyone takes their seats, watching them sternly, then suddenly asks Julia to follow her upstairs to Frank's office.

When the two women get upstairs, Rachel tells Julia to sit down, and she watches her, drumming her fingers against the package.

"Let me get right to the chase and make this quick," she says. "I've had an analyst take a look at how the laptop computers have been used in the last month or so. He found out some things that suggest you have been selling me out to the tabloids."

"WHAT?" Julia gasps, as Rachel rolls her eyes.

"Oh come off it, Julia," Rachel says, pulling the small ream of papers out of the envelope. "Just take a look at these and tell me you were not responsible."

Julia, speechlessly pages through the report looking increasingly confused and alarmed.

"I don't understand," She says. "I never sent these, I swear!"

Rachel points out that the email traffic happened at all hours, and they were addressed to her.

"This is a smoking gun if there ever was one," Rachel says. But still Julia protests, looking frantically around.

"Rachel, you know me," Julia begins …

"No actually, I don't," Rachel says. "Sy only brought you to me last summer. You have to work for me a lot longer than that for me to _know you."_

Julia sinks back in her chair, runs her hands through her black hair, and repeats that she doesn't know where the emails came from.

"And there is something else," Rachel says. "Amy says she has seen you going off to use the pay phone down the street."

"Those are personal calls!" Julia says. "I just prefer to use the pay phone on my lunch hour. What's wrong with that?!"

"Well, how do I know who you're talking to?" Rachel smirks and raises one eyebrow at Julia. The two women squabble, as Julia is unwilling to let Amy's testimony do her in. But it does no good.

"Julia, I no longer require your services, effective immediately," Rachel says. "I'm sorry. Please leave your computer with me, leave your phone and your credentials. Sy is going to release a statement that you no longer work for my management company."

"This isn't right!" Julia protests, but Rachel won't be moved.

"We're not going to divulge any details about what the problem is, or was," Rachel says. "Sy will release the statement, saying you're moving on to pursue other opportunities. It's going out this afternoon."

"Oh my God," Julia is shaking her head and rolling her fingers into a fist. She stands up abruptly. "You know I didn't do this, Rachel!"

"No, I don't," Rachel says, trying to stay calm. Truth is, she wishes the details in the package were not true at all, but the paper trail seemed so solid. "All I can do is go by what the analysis tells me. And it strongly suggests that you had … other interests while working for me. I'm sorry Julia, but I have to protect my household and my enterprise. Your final check—whatever we owe you—will be in the mail. I really am sorry."

Rachel walks to the door and pulls it open, waiting for Julia to exit. The woman does, folding her arms over her chest. She lifts one hand to idly play with the thinnest diamond and chain necklace Rachel has ever seen. Odd, Rachel thinks, watching Julia leave. She seemed so low-key, focused on her work and nothing else. Julia straightens her pinstriped oxford blouse and tucks it tighter into her black pencil skirt as she holds the banister and walks down the stairs. She always shows up in a tailored look, works efficiently, and gives concise direct answers to every question Rachel asks. This did seem out of character.

But the facts are what they are, Rachel thinks, as they reach the first floor landing and head to the living room. Julia gathers her shoulder bag and camel hair coat, wordlessly putting herself together.

Amy stands up, suppressing a smirk as she raises her hand to Julia.

"Sorry about that, Jules. Good luck," Amy says.

"Excuse me?" Julia says, not attempting to hide a scowl.

"I-I just meant," Amy stumbles. "It seemed like there was bad news, judging by the mood."

That's when Sy pipes up, turning away from the window where he had been standing.

"Rachel, what's going on?"

Rachel looks at them both sternly as she excuses herself and Julia. She walks her former publicist to the door and shuts it behind her. Then she walks back to the dining room, where Sy and Amy were waiting.

"I had to fire Julia just now," Rachel says. "There were a number of problems with her work, with inappropriate communications, and I took the step I thought was necessary."

"I didn't see that one coming," Tony says. "What happened?"

"And what 'inappropriate communications' do you mean?'" Sy presses. "Rachel, I brought Julia on board, and if you had a problem with her, couldn't you have told me about it?"

"Be-cause, Sy," Rachel says sharply. "You obviously didn't know, don't know what she's capable of doing. Listen, I brought you all here to reinforce that there is a 'no talking' policy in place here. Neither Frank nor I want to see our family members' names in the papers in certain ways. It just has to be that way, and if I have to clean house to ensure that I get it, I'm not afraid to do that."

Rachel takes a deep breath before reinforcing to Amy and Sy what their duties will be, now that Julia is gone. More work for both of them.

"I'm really sorry to hear this, Rachel," Tony says. "For both of you. Honestly, Julia didn't seem like the type."

"I thought I could depend on her, too, Tony," Rachel says. "But I really haven't known her that long. And besides, the evidence against her was pretty strong."

"You gonna be OK?" Tony moves toward Rachel and reaches for her hand.

"Well, I'm prepared to take on any communications or scheduling about your wedding," Amy says. "And I can certainly pick up where Julia left off. Honestly her job didn't seem all that hard to me."

Rachel smiles faintly at Amy, while Sy grumbles about being cut out of an important staff decision. Plus extra work.

"Well, I'm sorry to have let you down, Sy," Rachel sighs. "But it all started because someone let _me_ down, right?"

Sy says nothing, just nods and goes to pick up his coat.

"Is there anything else?"

"Actually, yes, Sy," Rachel says. "I need to cut one or two interviews out of my London schedule."

"What? Rachel come on, I jumped through hoops to get …"

"I just want to show up, work and go back to my hotel," Rachel says. "Think you can handle that, for the most part. Just give me back one more evening of time to myself, and we'll be all squared, Sy."

He reluctantly agrees, then says he needs to head to his desk to make calls. Rachel dismisses them, then sighs and sits at the piano again. She plays her new tune for a bit, but feeling frustrated, slams it shut and stomps upstairs to work on her packing list for London instead.

* * *

_Rachel meets more than jet lag in London; she puts Terrell in check at last; and Frank is not convinced that Rachel made the right choice regarding Julia._


End file.
